The Other Girl
by KenCosgrove
Summary: Kaye is alone in New York City, struggling to make her way. She lives from her car, steals to live, yet somehow manages to get by. She stumbles into Sterling Cooper catching ear of the winds of change. It's all leverage to her. Kaye is relentless, a liar, a thief, a con, and always gets what she wants. Is Sterling Cooper Draper & Sharpe on the menu? Beginning After S3E13
1. Chapter 1

New York City, New York,

December 1963

There was a despicably chilled air occupying New York City on Thursday, the 12th of December. The streets were blanketed in an inch of snow, and the sidewalks were piled high with the leftovers. In Manhattan, on Madison Avenue, the bustle of living never stopped. Traffic was backed up both directions and people were pushing passed each other on the sidewalk. Standing against the wall of a building on the southside corner of the East 49th Street intersection stood a woman. She was huddled into a telephone booth, spinning the rotary dial, her fingers frozen from the damp cold air.

"Herman." Her quiet voice mumbled into the receiver.

"Yeah?" An old croaky voice replied.

"It's Kaye… You got any work?"

"Lemme see, Kaye." The voice softened. There was a silence over the line for a moment, and a shuffling of papers. "Nothing right now, darling." Her face fell.

"But, mid January we need two weeks of work at least. Some for Carnegie Hall, and some for the Delta on 5th. If you are available, I'll give it to you."

"I'll do it." She shuffled her feet in the snow. "I'll come by the Hall in January then."

"Sounds good, dear. Keep safe. Merry Christmas."

Kaye waited, annoyed. "Merry Christmas Herman." She promptly hung up the receiver and stepped out of the telephone booth. She was met with a gust of cold air which blew some snow up her long grey coat.

"Hate winter." She huffed. Her circular tortoiseshell glasses hung low on her face and she pressed them back up her petite nose. Down East 49th on the other side of Park Avenue was a 1934 Nash Ambassador saloon, parked southeast. Its green and black paint had long faded in the sun, the interior was comfortable but of a bygone era, and the wood dash was old, cracking and in need of repair.

' _Home_ ' Kaye thought, as she opened the rear door and sat down in the empty space that once held the back seats of the car. Black drapes covered all windows lest the front doors and the windshield. There was a thin single mattress on the floor of the car, blankets, a small bookshelf Kaye had fastened out of scrap wood, and there was a book light that was hardwired to the battery attached to the wall of the car. The sound of the outside world were hushed well by the interior. Kaye sat down against the front seat and grabbed a book, " _Catcher in the Rye"_. It was 6:30 in the morning and the sun hadn't yet peaked over the horizon but dawn was about to appear. She flicked on the small booklight and began to read.

At 7:30, Kaye's stomach began rumbling. She turned over her satchel looking for some food. It was empty as usual. She pulled a flask from her pocket and opened the cap but it was dry as well. Finally, she reached into her deep coat pockets and found 18 cents in change.

"Running low." She mumbled.

Kaye adjusted her beige tam o' shanter, hopped from the car, and marched up 49th back towards Madison. The streets were much busier now, and even more people were pushing past each other. Kaye stood for a silent moment, looking around at the sea of faces passing. There was a rush towards a skyscraper nearby. A throng of young women in their mid to late twenties pushed through the crowd. They were all chatting together and laughing, dressed smart for their age. Though Kaye was a few years their junior, she followed them at close proximity. They marched through two large glass doors and up to an elevator. The big steel doors glided open and the swarm pushed in shoulder to shoulder. Looking at the girls makeup surrounding her, she quickly reached into her clutch purse and pulled out red lipstick applying it liberally.

"What floor?" There was a silence. Kaye looked over to the brunette in a pink outfit who was gesturing to her.

"The same as you." She replied smacking her lips confidently.

"Oh…" the woman turned, "Are you new?"

"You could say that."

"Alison." She girl stuck out her gloved hand. Kaye met it and shook it lightly.

"Kaye."

"Nice to meet you, Kaye. I love your outfit. Very chic."

"Thank you." Kaye smiled very slightly and straightened her coat. "Something I threw together."

"Who's secretary are you?" A tall slender woman with blonde hair questioned.

"I'm not a secretary." Kaye replied coldly.

"Oh…" The blonde looked away but turned again. "But you said you were new."

"New to here."

"Ah." She turned back. "Welcome to Sterling Cooper."

Kaye didn't respond. The large steel doors slid open once again and the girls stepped out into a small foyer leading to a pair of large maple doors. They were being held open and Kaye went with the many employees who were making their way through into the offices. She walked down the few steps and looking around noticed the large black letters on the wall, "Sterling Cooper."

She walked through the writer's pen and turned left, searching for the bathroom as she always did. Disoriented, she slowed down, reading each colourful door, and looking more methodically. She found it further down an adjacent hall. Locking herself in a stall against the wall, she placed her coat on the hanger and looked down to an old large faced watch. 7:44. Kaye pulled a book from her satchel and began reading. A few girls came in and out of the washroom in the following hour until it died out around 8:30. Kaye placed the book back in her satchel and left. She had spotted the lunch room while passing earlier and went there promptly. It was a small room, with a fridge, two coffee pots, and a toastmaster. She placed her coat on the hanger as she walked in, revealing a tight silvery dress that went down to her knees. A gold chain adorned her neck with an ornate broach at the bottom. She adjusted her glasses quickly and opened the fridge. It contained many brown bags of food of which Kaye grasped and removed one. She sat down at the small table in the room and began eating, her stomach finally ceasing its growling. She poured herself a coffee in a white mug from the cabinet.

After eating someone's entire lunch, she downed another mug of coffee.

"Starving already?" A young man with blonde hair walked through the entrance.

"Yes, I didn't eat breakfast." Kaye smiled instinctively.

"I hardly get time either." The man replied. "Unless my wife makes it, but Cynthia always wakes up late." He reached into the fridge and grabbed an apple from a bag. "I'm Ken, by the way. I haven't seen you around here." He sat down at the table.

"I'm Kaye. Pleased to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." Ken watched her stand and straighten her dress.

"Back to it then." She huffed.

"Never ends."

With a quick walk she made her way out of the lunchroom but left her coat to lower suspicion. She made her way around the writers pen once again and followed the line of offices until she noticed an open office at the end of the row. Without hesitating she walked into the office.

"Mister Sterling sent me to…"

The office was empty. There was a large cart against the window stocked with alcohol. Kaye walked over and grabbed a silver rimmed glass and filled it with Kentucky bourbon. She quickly drank the whole glass and then refilled it, drinking the second more slowly. She looked out the windows at the city below. Traffic was lessening on Madison and the snow was falling.

The man who owned the office had pictures on his desk. He was trim, with black hair and magnetic eyes. He had a wife, two kids it seemed. Friendly faces, probably with some sordid past, Kaye assumed. She could feel the alcohol taking its effect and leaving everything with a warmth to it despite the December weather.

"Can I help you?" The office owner walked in behind her.

"Mr. Sterling wanted a bottle of bourbon and a glass. Said you'd have some."

"Sure" He walked in, placing his coat on the hanger behind the door and placing his fedora on the top. "Take that bottle to him. Tell him he owes me one."

"I will." She smiled, trying not to let her breath out. After exiting the room with a bottle and a glass in hand, the secretary had sat down at her desk and looked up at her.

"For Mr. Sterling." She mumbled.

"Of course. I'll order Mr. Draper another one." She gave a toothy grin. Kaye turned down the row of offices and walked towards Mr. Sterling's office, whom she saw upon entering the main doors. After knocking and hearing someone yell ' _come in'_ , she entered the long stately office. The grey-haired man was on the phone, gesturing her to come closer. He moved the receiver away from his mouth.

"Can I help you?" he said quietly.

"Mr. Draper wanted you to have this." She placed the bottle of Woodford Reserve on his desk. She immediately turned and began leaving, swiveling the glass of bourbon around her body as to keep it out of his line of sight. Sterling began talking to the receiver once again. As she walked towards the double doors, she downed the rest of the glass and placed it down on a small side table at the front of the room.

"It's that kind of day, eh?"

Kaye froze in her tracks, turning swiftly to see Sterling looking at the glass and then back to her. She paused momentarily.

"Everyday is that kind of day." She smirked lightly awaiting his response. The silver fox laughed and shooed her from the room.

Once Kaye had cleared Sterling's office, she knew her welcome was overstayed. She made a line for the lunchroom to grab her coat and hat. Upon arrival she was met by a curvaceous redheaded woman, in her early thirties. She had a gold necklace with a pen hung around it. Her dress was a deep blue and it was cut just below the knee.

"Taking a break, are we?" She smiled.

"No." Kaye didn't hesitate. "I have been running around the office doing errands."

"Ah." The redhead said. "Errand girl today. I'm sorry the duty has fallen on you." She paused briefly. "I don't remember you, and I know everyone. Are you new here?"

"Yes." She paused. "I'm a temp. Sent by TWA from Brooklyn. Here for odds and ends." Kaye watched the woman intently. Her body language denoted concern, perhaps contempt.

"Well, if you are short of any work…" She tapped ashes from her cigarette into a nearby tray. "Come and see me, Ms. Harris."

"Thank you, Ms. Harris."

Once again, Kaye was forced to leave the lunchroom without her coat and find another route to come back. She went a different course from Sterling's office and picked up a file from an empty writer's desk to appear busy. The loud clacking of typewriters and shrill of telephones was overpowering. Kaye opened the file and began reading some of the headings, "Accounts Receivable, Inbox, Outbox, Account Number." She flipped further through the documents before she found rough pictures. Comics, they seemed to be. A storyboard. First a young boy in the kitchen, his mother searching for him. She finds him under the table crawling on the floor. "Jubilee Cleaner", it read.

"You!" a woman was standing outside of her office yelled towards Kaye. "I need you to take this to Don." Kaye moved slowly towards her, unsure of how to proceed. "Are you in the middle of a delivery?"

"Yes." She paused. "But I can do both. I'll take this to Mr. Draper." She waited to see if the short homely woman would correct her, but she turned and closed her office door after handing Kaye the folder.

"Alison, is he in?" Kaye questioned the secretary.

"Yes, he just hung up the phone."

Kaye breezed through the door, adjusting her large circular spectacles.

"From Ms. Olson." Her mind wandered to the colourful door behind _short homely_ lady. She placed the folder on the desk in front of Don. He picked it up and opened it.

"Wait here." He said without looking up. After flipping through the pages. "Tell me what you think of this." He returned the folder. Inside was three or four versions of the same image, hand sketched. It was for an Alcoa Aluminium. " _So easy a child could use it_."

"It's good." Kaye stated, unmoved.

"I want better than good." Draper grabbed a cigarette and lit up, offering one to Kaye. She took it from his hand and put it to her lips. Don passed his gold lighter across the table. Kaye noticed the small lettering, "P.F.C Dickens." She flicked it open

"In life, we often have to do things that are just not our bag." Kaye exhaled a plume of silvery smoke. She was reading the rear casing of Don's lighter. _Isn't that ironic_ – she thought.

"Friend of mine from the war." Don took back the lighter and replaced it in his coat.

"Make the ad about women, not children. Children don't use aluminum, nor should they be opening ketchup bottles. Parents do." Kaye took another drag, and looked out the side windows. She noticed the drinks cart below her, her eyes wandering over them.

"So _easy_ , a woman can use it. Then show a picture of a woman being amazed by how easy it was to use Alcoa Aluminium bottle caps. The rest of the ad can be a tack about how housewives love the caps."

Don smiled. "You do this for everyone around here?"

"I do it for a living." She smoked.

"Make ads?"

"Churn garbage."

Draper laughed lightly and flicked the ashes of his cigarette. "I don't know your name."

"Kaye. Kaye Sharpe."

"Well, Ms. Sharpe. You just made my day a lot easier." He stood up and passed her back the folder. "Take these to Peggy, and repeat what you told me."

Kaye smiled, plucked the cigarette between her thin lips, and left the room. She walked down the hall to "MARGARET OLSON"'s office and though upset at first, the woman quickly slammed the door and began clacking away on her typewriter.

A feeling of relief overwhelmed Kaye as she realized she was free. She cut through the writer's pen and up the steps through to the lunch room. Her long beige coat and tam 'o shanter hat were still waiting, hanging from the black standing rack. She pulled them from the rack and began walking out towards the exit.

A glint caught her eye, from an open door. It was another open office, in a more secluded corner of the floor. Secretary away. She walked over, reading the name plate, "LANE PRYCE." The sweet smell of rum wafted into her nose. _Temptation_. She slid through the door and closed it tightly behind her.

There was a drinks cart with many opened bottles of alcohol. To her left was another coat rack with a black double breasted suit jacket and fedora placed on it. Kaye pulled it to the ground, placing it in front of the door, and shoving the jacket somewhat under the doorjamb.

"Finally." She whispered, dropping her coat behind the sofa. Kaye reached for a bottle and one of the silver rimmed glasses once again and filled it with rum. She held the bottle in the other hand, drank the glass, and refilled it. She looked out the window and drank the second glass slowly.

" _Sometimes we have to do things that just aren't our bag._ " She mumbled. The feeling Kaye had been craving swept over her and she giddily smiled, laughing quietly. "I couldn't agree more, Mr. P.F.C. Dickens." She laughed, finishing the glass. She pulled a third glass of rum. Watching traffic pass by, she thought of her sister and brother in law in Connecticut. They were the last family she had seen. She wondered about them.

The door budged, and slammed into the rack, crushing the coat under the door.

"Oh, come on." The man said, attempting to enter the room. "Damn coat rack."

Kaye quickly grabbed the bottle and ducked behind the sofa, crossing her legs and beginning to drink from the bottle. Her lips and cheeks became burning red matching her strawberry hair, and her many freckles became bright. She couldn't help herself from giddily laughing. She covered her mouth to quiet down.

The man eventually pushed through the door, restoring his coat and hat to the rack, and placing it standing upright. He bah-humbugged the whole time. He sat down at his office desk for a moment, and then picked up the telephone, dialing a long number.

The man had a thick British accent, manicured, sounded of a Londoner. "Sinjin, glad I caught you, Mr. Sterling, Cooper and Draper know of the sale… A mix between the truth and a half truth, they knew about McCann but they were under the belief that PPL was being sold as well … That they were wrong, they even wanted to bid for Sterling Cooper to help ascend above our purchase price." He paused, his voice becoming more aggravated. "What news… What?... Why wasn't I told? … Well, where's my place in this?" He was now nearly shouting. Another pause. "And then what?" His voice hushed greatly. "Yes… Thank you…" The man slammed the receiver down into the chuck so violently it rang the bell.

The man, whom she could only assume was Lane Pryce, left the room in a somber mood. Kaye on the other hand was laying flat on the ground, running her hand through her hair, woolgathering and miles away. She brought the bottle of rum to her lips and took a sip, placing it back onto the ground.

"Trouble in paradise." Kaye sat up, and placed the cork top back into the rum bottle. She gripped the neck of the bottle and slid the glass onto the cart. _Could turn this into a job_ – the cogs within her mind began turning. _But, do I want a job?_ She sipped once again from the bottle. Walking over to the phone on the desk, she spun it around and began dialing. There was a private button on the phones face so she pressed it. The phone rang a few times.

"Hello?" A female voice rang through the phone. There was a short pause. "Hello…"

"Hello, Elena." Kaye said.

"Kaye… is that really you?"

"Yeah…" Kaye crunched her face together and sighed. "It's me. I'm in New York."

"New York? What are you doing there?"

"I'm at an advertising firm… today." Kaye sat back into Mr. Pryce's chair.

"Oh really? All that work for Carnegie Hall paid off then." The voice piqued in higher spirits.

"In a way, it did." Kaye pushed the cork back into the rum bottle. "Living the high life now."

"I'm so glad, sister. Hugh says hello. He hopes you're doing well."

"Say hello to Hugh. Say hello to everyone."

There was a silence over the phone line.

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?" Elena asked.

"No, I just wanted to let you know that I've made it."

"Alright Kaye." A brief pause. "You can come home whenever you like. Bygones be bygones."

"Alright. Goodbye, Elena."

"Goodbye sister." Kaye replaced the receptacle quickly. There was a knock at the door. She jumped to her feet and ran her hand through her hair to fix it straight.

"Hello?" A meek little woman walked in. She turned and saw Kaye.

"Who're you?"

"I'm picking up a bottle of rum for Mr. Sterling. He was specific."

"No worries. Take what you need." She began to walk out. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm just hot."

"Grab some water." She squeaked. "Your face is beet red."

Kaye said nothing and followed the secretary out, leaving her coat behind. If she had to be stuck in the office for further inconvenience, she should make it worthwhile.

"Where is the accounting room?" She spoke before leaving the small secretary.

"It's down this hall. Last door in that little nook hallway."

"Thank you."

Kaye took the bottle and walked swiftly down the hallway to a secluded door, it was marked " **ACCOUNTING** " She knocked. No answer. Beside the door was a dark room for photography. No one in sight.

She pulled a pin from her hairdo and a thin steel nail file from her bra liner, and inserted it into Accounts office door handle. The lock clicked. Kaye slipped inside unnoticed.

There was a mass of green filing cabinets, each 5-foot-tall and bordering the walls. There was also a desk with many drawers, a small lamp attached to the desk and a bucket of Parker pens. Placing the rum on one of the cabinets, she sat down at the desk and pulled open the top drawer. It contained many used chequebooks, all signed by Joan Harris, and then either by Lane Pryce, Roger Sterling, or Bertram Cooper. Kaye pulled out a piece of paper from the desk, turned the chequebook upside down, and then began copying the signatures of Joan Harris and Lane Pryce multiple times. She drew it eloquently, as if it was a picture rather than a signature. She then grabbed a blank cheque and drew the signatures quickly. Copying the style of writing as well; $150.00 was written clearly. She tore the cheque out of the book and crumpled the paper, padding her bra with the excess. She placed the cheque beneath her arm, tightly tucked into her undergarment.

Kaye stood for a long moment in thought, questioning her next move. There were many possibilities for her here. A home for a while; most offices are like this. Too busy to notice someone who looks busy themselves. She could try to leverage a job. _It was advertising, something I know_ – she thought. Either way, there was food and warm drinks for the cold nights.

She turned slowly, looking at the rum bottle on the cabinet. She picked it up, opened one of the many filing cabinets, and slipped it behind a 3rd row drawer beneath a thick pack of files. Kaye pulled the many drawers open attempting to find a large silver key that most companies hid a duplicate of in a locked room; the front door key. The bottom draw held the item she searched for. After leaving the Accounting room, she walked across the hall and back towards Pryce's office.

"Is he in?" Kaye asked.

"Yes, just sat down."

She pushed passed the secretary without blinking and went into the office. There was a faint, _wait let me buzz him_ , before the door closed.

"Can I help you?" The accent flowed off his tongue like jam and tea.

"My coat and hat. I left them here, when I was cleaning yesterday. They were on this rack." She motioned to Lane's coat and hat.

"That fell over today, tossed my coat and hat away." He stood up gesturing.

"Oh." Kaye paused looking behind the couch. "Here they are." She picked them up. "Sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Pryce."

"Alright…" He paused looking around curiously. "No harm done."

Kaye was out of the office as she had appeared in the office; unmemorably. Out the main doors without a question and then down to the main floor. She placed the tam o' shanter back at its tilted angle on her rusty hair, and adjusted her glasses. The warm embrace of the rum still gripped her form. She felt that floating sensation that her mind craved. Everything was at peace.

A Chase Manhattan bank was a few blocks north of Sterling Cooper and Kaye went to deposit the cheque. It cleared and she cashed the money quickly under a pseudonym Camilla Carlisle. She made her way back to the Nash Ambassador parked down East 49th Street. A plethora of blankets, a book and a long sleep is something she greatly looked forward to.


	2. Chapter 2- Close the Door Have a Seat

New York City, New York

December 1963

Donald Draper had gone to the bar after work that Thursday. He avoided the drive home in the rushed air and switched for a later night in the cool air.

Don sat in silence for a moment, there was a small crowd at the bar that evening, some people pushing around him to sit down. He thought of Betty, their marriage, their wedding day. It wasn't so long ago that he and Betty crossed paths in Rome, her desire to start a career in modelling was still surging at that time. Her creamy skin shone in the night, he looked at her with hope and fear mixed together on the approach. Those big grey eyes looking to him.

Don ordered another drink and sipped it down quickly. He glanced around the bar, noticing the throngs of people congregating in different corners of the bar. He wished he was home, in bed.

A girl sat down beside him, he barely noticed her. She lifted her hand up to the tender, signaling him to come over. She ordered an old fashioned. _A woman and an old fashioned_ – he wondered, turning his head. It was the errand girl from earlier in the day. He had more of a chance to analyze her now. She was thin, shorter, perhaps 5'4. Her hair was a rich strawberry blonde, bordering on a light ginger. She had circular tortoiseshell glasses on that were large but not too big, the same ones she was wearing earlier. A wide range of freckles dotted her face and her blue eyes were slightly glazed over. She had changed into a cream colour blouse and black skirt. She hadn't noticed him. Don wondered what she was busy doing, meeting a friend perhaps. He watched in silence. She looked the other way briefly and then received her old fashioned before gingerly sipping the drink. _Kaye, that was her name_.

"I'll have one of those too." Don spoke to the tender. The girl turned to face him, her eyes widened slightly but she didn't seem overly taken.

"Mr. Draper." Her eyes widened slightly, and the she cooled. "Pleasant surprise."

"Don," He said, looking to the bartender. "Mr. Draper is for meetings." He finished off the current drink he had. "You don't seem like the type to be here."

"They always say that."

Don's face confused. "Who always says that?"

Kaye drank her Old Fashioned.

"Why're you here?" She asked.

"Why wouldn't I be here? Works done."

"Of course." She smiled to him. Don noticed Kaye's slight features. Her face was angular and had a strong jaw and a particular nose that was flat towards the end. She was very beautiful, but in a boyish sort of way. She was young too, couldn't be older than 25. She had many freckles dotting her petite face.

"I've never met a woman who drinks an old fashioned."

"I've never liked a man who doesn't."

Don smirked, he picked up the drink that the tender delivered moments ago. "When did you come on board?"

"Not long ago. Just here to help with the ladies."

"Thanks for the help today. We're going through with the idea."

"Glad I could suggest an idea." She smiled, reaching over slowly to Don. She ran her hand inside his dark grey jacket. He looked to her with great surprise, but she kept going. She reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling his gold lighter and silver cigarette case, placing them on the table. She tipped the case up, and flicked it open, pulling a cigarette from the case, and then sliding it back into his pocket. She opened the lighter by snapping her thumb against it, and lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply. "I needed that."

The smoke plumed out from her nostrils.

"Glad I could help." Don smirked.

"How long have you been with Sterling Cooper?" Kaye opened.

"A decade." He said, tilting back the glass to his mouth. "Or so."

"What's your training?"

"I worked for a furrier." Don laughed. "Heller's on 43rd."

Kaye's brows contorted in confusion.

"Roger hired me right from there."

"Must have been some pitch." Kaye sipped the whiskey mix between puffs on the Lucky Strike.

"Don't take no for an answer." Don looked off into the distance.

"How's your wife?" Kaye's cheeks dented as she slowly inhaled once again.

"She's fine." Don's voice was monotone.

"You have a flat in the city to avoid her?"

"I rent."

"Don't we all."

"Why so curious?" He said, lightheartedly.

"Telling me what kind of man you are." Kaye downed the end of the drink. Don signaled for the tender to bring another.

"And what kind of man am I?"

"A good man with a lost soul. Or, maybe you're a lost man, with a good soul."

They sat in silence as Kaye looked forward and finished the cigarette. She was going over the day in her mind, toiling through her thoughts. She briefly settled on her sister and the phone call in Lane Pryce's office. She remembered his conversation overseas. She butted the filter into the crystal ashtray.

"What do you know about McCann Erickson."

Don froze. "That I don't want to work for them."

"How do Sterling and Cooper feel about McCann."

"The same." Don's face spelled worry. He could see that she knew and there was no going back from it. "What do you know."

"Overheard the stiff brit discussing it in his office."

Don didn't say anything.

"I won't say anything." She mumbled, drinking more.

"What do you want." Don said, his face expressionless. He turned and faced the bottles behind the tender on the shelf.

"That's a good question." She downed the rest of the Old Fashioned. She was about to speak when Don cut in.

"Not like Lane cares anyway. He gets his high tower."

"I don't follow."

"P.P.L. They stay out of this, Lane moves on. He doesn't care. Hilton got me into this mess."

"Hilton, the hotel magnate?"

"Conrad Hilton." Don sloshed the alcohol around in the glass, watching it stick to the sides and slide back to the bottom. There was brief pause.

"That's not what I heard." She motioned Don for another cigarette. He passed one on and lit it in her mouth. "With P.P.L, I mean."

"Who told you."

"That brit." She took a long drag. "Pryce."

Don looked to her in confusion.

"I overheard." She spun the empty glass with ice and slid it down the bar. "Men talk more than they should."

They said nothing for a long moment.

"Well, you have an advantage now." Kaye spoke first.

"What's that."

"You know he's lying. What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm under contract." Don started. "Hilton made me sign it for the deal. The only thing we could do is outbid McCann Erickson."

"I'm sure there's a better way."

"Unlikely."

Again, there was silence. They both smoked indifferently.

"Who answers to who?"

"I'm over creative. I answer to Roger. Roger answers to Lane. Lane answers to PPL in London."

"So, Lane is the head of the show in New York."

"Since they bought the place, yes."

"Call Roger. And Cooper. We'll meet tomorrow in your office, early. Before it opens."

Don sat still, looking over to Kaye. He remarked how young she was again. There was a certain charisma to her, reminding him of himself. He also saw something in her that captivated Don and made him fear; her lack of soul. There was a quality about her that spelled courage and bravery of the worst kind. The kind of solider who jumps over to rescue a dying man, and not really caring. Dragging him back to the boys only to have the man die in his arms. Then he laughs and tries again.

"Alright. Make it worth our while."

"I always do.

* * *

December 13th, 1963

The air was crisp and hovering just above freezing in New York. The sun was rising quickly and burning the fog off the East River. It was early in the morning, but Kaye was already brushing past people and pushing into the elevator at Sterling Cooper. Her heart beat with anticipation of the day. She became worried, needy, and in seek of respite in her vice. She had ran out the previous night and bought a small bottle of Gordon's gin. She had drunk more than half of it, and the rest was in a flask in her clutch. The elevator seemed to take forever to ascend. It was quiet for a moment.

The elevator dinged loudly, and the doors slung open. The hall was quiet, but the doors were unlocked. A janitor was moving a mop around on the lino of the entrance way. He looked up quickly, a smile crossed his great mustached face. Kaye returned the smile and slipped by him. She ran to Don's office and pushed the door open. She was nervous; her hands were shaking. She reached into her clutch for the flask but looked up and saw the drinks cart first. Her hands steadied as she walked over to the cart and poured a full glass of whiskey. She took the first sip and realized her nerves were fraying. It was the most nervous she had been since the night she left Elena's. She was sure she would blow her chances. She looked to the clock on the desk. It read shortly after 7:00 a.m. Kaye moved around Don's office with the glass in her hand. She brushed her hands along his desk and looked down at the work. It was surprisingly clean, only a few useful items cluttered his desk. There was a sheet of paper scrolled into his typewriter. She leaned over and scrolled it out.

"Dear Betty.

I won't—" He struck the word with his pen. "will ask that we wait a few weeks before we do anything. I don't want rash decisions to be made—I want what's best for the kids."

The letter stopped there. There were a few crumpled up sheets of paper in the waste basket beneath the typewriter desk. They all read generally the same. "The lone man Draper." She mumbled.

Kaye leaned back against the wall and sipped her whiskey.

It was all at once she realized she was not alone. There was a man lying on the sofa facing the wall. His jacket was draped on the armchair, hat in the same position. He was sleeping. Kaye stood there silently, downing the last of her drink and then walking over to the man. It was Don. His hair was unkempt, and he had dark circles under his eyes. There was a coffee stain on the top of his shirt, near his lapel. Or what appeared to be coffee. He reeked of whiskey. Kaye wondered if it was her, momentarily, before Don rolled over and she smelled his breath. It was stale whiskey. Don awoke with a judder. Kaye was sitting beside him on the sofa.

"How long have I been here? What time is it?" The questions came rapid fire.

"I don't know. I just got here." Kaye stood up and put the glass down on the tray once again. "It's seven."

"Why're you here?"

Kaye said nothing and sat down in the armchair. "I couldn't sleep." She added.

Don sat up from the couch and rubbed his face, exhaling deeply.

"Roger won't be in until 9:30 or 10:00. Bert will be here first thing. I don't know about Lane."

 _Roger_ Sterling, _Bert_ Cooper. _Albert or Bertram?_ Kaye wondered silently.

"Could you get me some coffee?" Don stood up, picking his coat and placing it on the rack by the door.

"No." Kaye said. "I'm not a secretary."

Don said nothing and left the office. His stoicism was unnerving to Kaye. He walked across the empty hall and ran a full pot from the lunchroom. Kaye followed him moments later.

"Rough night?" she leaned up against the wall beside the coffeemaker. Don looked up from the coffee, then back to it.

"Yep."

"So, it's over then." Kaye walked over to the fridge, opening its door and seeking something to eat.

"What is?" Don replied.

"Your marriage."

"Is it that obvious?" Don said, pulling the pot from the maker and filling two mugs he grabbed from the shelves.

"You're sleeping at work, you look tired, you drank too much."

"That's anyone's night here." Don smirked.

"Call it a woman's intuition." She pulled a leftover apple from the fridge, took a bite, and closed the door.

"It's more complicated than that."

"It always is."

Don smiled, but it faded quickly. He sipped his coffee and made a move towards his office. Kaye followed, apple in hand.

"This thing you have for us better work."

"I don't know if it will work."

"What?" He stood up. "I could have been planning then, instead I'm relying on you." He interjected tersely.

"That's your fault, Don."

He was flabbergasted.

"If the hierarchy of this company is the same as every other company, which it is, then you have nothing to worry about." Kaye bit the apple again. "Well that's not entirely true. I can get out of the door, but I can't help you after that."

"What do you want?" Don slouched into his armchair with his coffee.

"What does anyone want?"

"Money." Don replied.

"Give a man a fish, he eats for a night. Teach a man to fish, he eats for life." She riddled.

"A promotion."

Kaye winked and snapped a piece from the apple once again.

"I can't guarantee that."

"Well then I can't guarantee my help."

"It's not that I don't want to, Kaye. It's that I have nowhere to give you. You haven't been here long, and there's people in line in front of you."

"Do I seem like I care?" Kaye threw the core into a waste basket nearby. Her hands were trembling.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Don said, with slight frustration.

"You're the head of creative. Get creative."

Kaye threw herself back into Don's couch and draped her hair over the arm.

"Actually, I want to be the Assistant Creative Director." Kaye said. Don looked up from his cigarette.

"Okay." Don said.

"That was easy." Kaye said, putting a cigarette between her lips. Don stood from his chair and lit it for her. She inhaled quickly and exhaled the plume of bluish smoke.

"There is no Assistant Creative Director." Don said.

"There is starting Monday." She dragged on. "And her name is Kaye Sharpe."

"Roger and Bert will have to approve."

"They will when I get them out of working for McCann Erickson."

* * *

Roger and Bert walked into Don's office at a 9:30.

"What's with the early call?" Roger smiled, a cigarette was dangling from between his lips. "You woke me, and father time."

"I assume you have something important for us." Bert barked, shuffling into a seat.

"Where's Lane?" Kaye asked; her back was to them, she was staring out the window.

Don walked over to the door,

"Allison, can you check in on Lane?"

"Sure, Mr. Draper." Allison stood quickly and walked away.

"Who's this?" Bert turned to point to the woman at the window.

"Kaye Sharpe," She turned and walked over to Bert, outstretching her hand to shake his. Bert leaned back and looked at her. "Are you going to shake my hand."

"Oh." Bert said slowly, shaking her hand limply.

"Kaye is going to save us from McCann Erickson." Don said, unenthusiastically.

"You can't, dear." Bert piped up. "We all have contracts."

"P.P.L is being sold off along with McCann." Kaye said, flipping open her silver cigarette case. She reached into Don's pocket and stole his lighter. She plucked the long white stick between her lips. "Lane didn't know until yesterday."

"How do you know?" Roger spoke up.

"Because, I know." She lit the cigarette and placed the lighter beside her. "Lane's going to come in here in a minute and tell you that. He's also probably going to say that no matter what your bid is for Sterling Cooper, McCann will beat it. There's no way out."

"So, we're here to discuss the futility of our attempt then?" Bert stood.

"I'm here to give you a way out. But you need to act now, and its risky." She brushed her nose with her thumb, holding the cigarette away from her face.

"I'm all ears." Roger said, pouring a rum. "I'd rather hang myself than go to McCann."

"Don't grab the rope yet." She replied.

"What's your part in this?" Bert said to Kaye.

"I want a promotion."

"How long have you been here?" He asked.

"A few weeks."

"Well that will be awkward." Bert turned around and sat at the edge of the couch.

"More awkward than working for McCann?" She snapped back. He sat in silence. "I want to be Assistant Creative Director. I've done a lot of work for Carnegie Hall, and places around their company. I'm more than proficient. I landed the Alcoa spread. I want to be under Don."

A silence followed once again.

"I don't see what choice we have." Roger replied.

"Fine." Bert broke. "You can have the job. Don, are you okay with this?"

"If we're on our own, I'm okay with anything." He said.

There was a brief knock at the door, and Allison stood in the doorway.

"Your guest has arrived."

"Close the door. Have a seat." Don said. Lane walked in and stood by the door, somewhat reluctantly.

"What's he doing here." Bert pointed to Lane.

"You gonna read us your will now?" Roger looked to Don. "I want the Cadillac."

"I spoke with Kaye last night, and she has a plan to get us out of McCann."

"You can't. It's done." Lane replied. "I asked yesterday. You were right, P.P.L is being sold, so it seems we're all going to McCann."

"They cut you loose?" Roger said to Lane.

Don spoke up, "What was their offer. Maybe you're wrong Kaye. I want you to give us a shot."

"Enough. I should fire you for even trying to involve me in this conspiracy." Lane replied.

"Go ahead. It's the only thing you did well here." Don barked.

"Don, let it go." Bert said.

"I did a great many things here." Lane snapped back.

"Have another, it's 9:30 for God's sake." Roger lit a cigarette.

"Lane, you have absolute authority to fire anyone. Correct?" Kaye spoke up.

He stood there, pensively.

"Fire everyone in this room."

There was another hushed silence.

"Fire us. Sever the contracts and let everyone go." Kaye said.

Bert smiled. Roger turned to Lane,

"Can you do that?"

"Why would I?" Lane turned to Roger.

"Once the sale is through, you're done, Lane." Kaye said. He looked to her from the corners of his eyes. "You're dead weight, and you have no place at McCann. Look, there's Sterling and Cooper, and your creative man. Who're you?"

"We'll make you a partner." Bert said.

"I should think this is worth more than that." Lane smirked.

"So we're negotiating?" Don smiled and stepped forward.

"Put his name on the door." Kaye said.

"I don't know." Roger cautioned.

"Do you know how to do what he does?" Don spoke.

"I don't" Bert added.

"It could be done." Lane moved to sit down near Kaye. "But getting you; us, out of here, isn't the difficult part. We need accounts."

Lane looked at Kaye. "And who're you?"

"The new Assistant Creative Director." Roger smiled motioned in cheers to her. He sat down adjacent Don. "Let's say we have Lucky Strike."

"That's… let's see, 23 million in billings?"

"Twenty-four." Roger said.

"We'd still need another third for cash flow." Lane added.

"Well, I can't take anyone else, or Lee Garner Sr. won't think that he's special. What about Hilton?" Roger turned to Don.

"No." Don said.

"Can we get any of our other accounts?" Lane asked.

"We'll get them." Roger replied.

"If I were to send a telex in at noon today that you've all been sacked, it's after close of business in London. It would remain unnoticed until Monday morning there, 2:00am here. That gives us today and the weekend to first gather accounts and then a skeleton staff to service them. And of course, we would have to obtain all the materials required for continuity of service."

"Obtain? We have to steal everything." Don laughed.

"Anyone approached must a certainty. If the news spreads, they'll lock us out.

"That would be unfortunate." Kaye interjected. "Roger can you write up my contract this morning."

"Yes."

There was a brief silence as they all looked at each other.

"Do we vote or something?" Don said.

Roger raised his hand first, followed by Bert, Don, and Kaye.

"Well ladies and gentlemen, I suppose you're fired." He laughed.

"Well, it's official. Friday, December 13th, 1963. Four guys and a chick shot their own legs off."


	3. Chapter 3 - Come Fly with Me

New York City, New York

December, 1963

Don immediately poured the mutineers drinks after their decision. Kaye had filled her glass twice and was quite deep into the second. Her head was spinning vigorously, and she felt as if she was in flight. Her eyes were glazed over, and her breath stank strongly of alcohol; though, beauty covers a multitude of sins. Kaye was on the border of staggering but still able to maintain her composure as she left the office, following Roger. Don briefly said to Allison that the office would be closed for carpet cleaning over the weekend

"So how much are you paying me?" Kaye slumped down into the armchair in front of Roger's desk in his office.

"Aren't you going to take me to dinner before you bed me?" Roger inhaled on a cigarette.

"That would mean I respect you."

"Touché." Roger leaned back into his tall swivel chair. "You tell me."

"What does Don make. I'll do half his work, so I figure I should make half his money."

Roger didn't say anything but instead opened a folder with some documents in it.

"Don makes a lot of money."

"How much do you want to work for McCann." Kaye smiled.

Roger paused, leering at Kaye.

"Enough to pay you twenty thousand a year."

Kaye's heart skipped a beat and a great smile crossed her face and threaded her eyes. She became overcome with that sensual feeling when the thought of great power enters your mind.

"Enough to pay me twenty two-five?"

Roger laughed, dragging on the cigarette for a long while. "Would you like me to put on a dress and bend over first?"

"For 3 years." She said.

There was a still silence in the room again.

Roger laughed. "What choice is there anyway."

"I want an advance." She said, standing from the armchair and stretching.

"Sweetie, we're not even out the door yet. We don't even know if the thing worked."

"It will work. All you need to worry about is that contract and picking your soldiers."

Kaye walked sensually towards the door, showing Roger her better side. He sat silently.

"I want five thousand dollars by Sunday."

"I don't know how…"

"I don't care how." Kaye smiled at Roger. "Pull your cronies together. You're a handsome devil. Con your way into it."

Kaye walked out of Roger's office with the sense of authority she had never felt before. It was surging through her veins like a white-hot heat. She looked around and saw the secretaries clacking away on memos and the like; The copywriters slaving away at their stations. Monday, it would all be hers. She watched as the buxom redhead head secretary was scolding some new girl. Kaye looked over to Bert Cooper's office in the corner. She strode past the front door and up the stairs towards his office, knocking quietly.

"Come in." he said.

As she opened the door, he motioned her to proceed.

"Take off your shoes."

Kaye froze, looked to him briefly, and saw that he was shoeless. She proceed to remove her heels and walked in slowly, sitting down.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Sharpe." He was sitting on his sofa, sipping green tea.

"I know I cannot buy respect." She sat down opposite him. "And instead, I have to earn it like a good wage."

"Fair."

"What auto companies do Sterling Cooper represent?"

"None, dear." He sipped the tea.

"How about airlines?"

"Well, we had Mohawk. But our eyes saw further than the horizon. And we were wrong. None, currently."

"So we're riding on tobacco, the dying brand."

"Tobacco is still good today."

"Today. But not tomorrow. Everyone's quitting. It'll probably be over in twenty years. All those studies are coming out against tobacco."

"Don't let Roger hear you say that." Cooper smiled. "You said you worked in advertising?"

"I've done spreads for Carnegie Hall, the museum, Maidstone Club, free lance work."

"So, this is quite the step up for you." Bert sipped the tea again.

Kaye sat silently.

"Not trying to offend dear, just pointing out facts."

"I'm no fool, Mr. Cooper."

"I never said you were." He put his tea down on the coffee table. "I've never met a twenty something who successfully pushed their way into the upper management overnight."

Kaye briefly prided herself; the feeling dissipated.

"Then we need to seduce someone big."

"You make it sound like it's a bedroom relationship."

"It is."

There was silence.

"How old are you?" Cooper said.

"24."

"You'll lose yourself in this business."

"I can handle myself just fine, Mr. Cooper—"

"That's not what I mean."

Kaye hesitated.

"I know what I'm getting in to."

"I don't think you do, Ms. Sharpe. You have the brains and talent. But you don't have the experience."

"That's why I'm under Don."

"You seem to think that's a good thing, dear." Bert smirked, taking up his tea. "This business will swallow you whole."

Kaye stood up.

"It already has, Mr. Cooper."

Silence.

"Have a good day, dear." Bert sipped his tea.

* * *

"Two layers to intelligence." Kaye said to Don and Roger. They were all sitting at the bar at O'Mailles off East 48th Street.

"What are those?" Roger said, indiscriminately smoking and drinking simultaneously.

"The first is being smart, the next is bullshitting."

"Hard to know the difference." Roger smirked.

"It's more about knowing how to mix one on the other."

"I can't believe he was gonna leave." Don said, stupidly looking to Roger.

"Who?" Kaye said.

"Pete Campbell. New head of accounts or whatever job we create to fill his billings. That little shit." Roger replied.

A brief silence followed.

"Look, they still have a picture of Kennedy up." Roger smoked. "Although, what are they gonna do? Take it down and put up Lyndon Johnson?"

"Not in this place." Don replied.

The two men laughed quietly. Kaye smoked.

"You know anything about politics sweetie?" Roger asked Kaye.

"I voted for Kennedy."

"Yeah, you and the rest of the world." Roger quipped. "Would have been better to just vote Nixon like I said in 1960."

"Didn't do Nixon any good."

"No but you 'Can't lick our Dick'" Roger smirked.

"Kennedy did." Kaye finished.

They drank.

"I've acted like I've started a business my whole life." Roger opened. "but I inherited it."

Don's smug look disappeared, and he spoke quietly to Roger.

"I need an attorney."

Roger didn't reply but looked at Don with prying eyes.

"Divorce."

"So it's true, huh?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Henry Francis."

Don looked perplexed and broke, "Who?"

"Shit." Roger whispered. "Right when things were almost normal."

Don's face quickly changed to anger. "I need you to tell me what you know."

"Margaret's friends with his daughter." Roger raised his hands in jest.

"Are they sleeping together?"

"I don't know." Roger paused. "It came from his daughter; she talks about him. It sounds like it's serious. I was gonna tell you. No, I wasn't; I thought you knew." He sighed. "I'm sorry I told you. Believe me."

There was a long pause while Don looked sorrowfully into his whiskey.

"I am sorry about that." Roger added.

"They'll probably go to Reno." Kaye inhaled on the end of her cigarette. "It's the least messy divorce. "Irreconcilably differences" or something like that."

Don looked over to her. His gaze steadied for a long while and he exhaled deeply.

"Ill fight her." There was still anger lingering in his tone.

"Probably best not to." Kaye said.

A long silence.

"I'm going home. Goodnight." Don said. He stood swiftly, putting on his coat, tipped his fedora, and left the bar. Kaye got up and moved over one stool to sit beside Roger.

"So what's your story?" Roger asked.

"Whatya want to know?" Kaye said, a slight delay in her speech.

"Its not everyday a woman cons her way into power."

"Not every woman is like me." Kaye said.

Roger chuckled and smoked again.

"I grew up in Connecticut." She said. "Got bored of the life there. My parents are gone. Just my sister and her husband."

"Then some man swept you off your feet and carried you here?"

"I left." She drank. "A note in the night, took my fathers old car and headed for New York."

"I appreciate a good underdog story." Roger replied. "Here's your money." He reached into his vest pocket and pulled a white envelope about a quarter inch thickness.

"Welcome to Sterling Cooper—Whatever we are." Roger raised his glass and Kaye followed suit.

"What's your story?"

"Whatya want to know?" Roger smirked childishly. "I got a lot of ducky war stories for you."

"Pinned down in a foxhole on the hill at Iwo Jima?"

"I fought on Okinawa, if that makes you feel any better." Roger said.

"Are you always there in your dreams?" Kaye asked.

"Sometimes." Roger turned to face the barman. "In a way, you never really leave. The battle simply changes. Grenades become diapers and all that." He inhaled on his dwindling cigarette.

Kaye butted hers into the ashtray.

"I'm going to land us something big." She stated.

"Oh yeah?" Roger smirked.

"We're gonna need more that a few million to get a good office."

"I said that to Don when we were leaving. I don't know when we're going to be back somewhere like that again."

"Good thing you hired me."

"At gun point, may I add." Roger butted his cigarette as well.

"I'm worth every penny."

"Darling, I have no doubt about that. Any woman who drinks an old fashioned is my kind of woman."

Kaye smiled, leaned over in her chair, and kissed Roger on his cheek.

"I'll work with you. But I'm not your darling." She caressed his cheek with her hand, and then brought it back to her drink. "So when did you get divorced."

"Who told you?"

"Who isn't divorced as an ad man?"

"Fair." Roger said. "Mona, is her name. The greatest woman, we have one daughter. She's about your age, Margaret. She just got married two weeks ago."

"To Margaret." Kaye raised her glass, Roger followed.

"What about Don? His wife leaving him?"

"Betty," Roger drank. "They've been married, oh, ten years now I guess. Two kids. Wait no, three. She's a real stunner. Gorgeous woman. But she has that acid smile, you know? There's always something bubbling in the cauldron upstairs."

"I know the type." Kaye said. She pulled a newspaper sitting on the bar closer to her. She briefly flipped through pages.

"Looking for a new job already?" Roger pried.

"Looking for my first job at my job."

"You'll never find them in there. That's the Journal."

"When are we meeting next."

"We could make this a nightly thing if you want."

"Cute." She said, without looking up.

"Tomorrow morning, and we aren't leaving. Bring lunch. And supper. Then breakfast, and lunch and supper. Then probably breakfast because we'll fail." Roger drank slowly.

"You have your goose egg. The rest of us need some lofty tower to gaze down on the world from." Kaye replied. "I'll find mine, and hopefully we have to hire 50 people to keep it rolling."

"Good luck." Roger laughed. "I don't think Leo Burnett's ever done that."

"This is New York." She finished her drink and turned the glass upside down, placing it on the bar. "Not Chicago."

She grabbed her coat and stood from the stool.

"See you tomorrow?" Roger asked.

"I'll be waiting at the office." She leaned over and pecked his cheek.

Roger smiled.

* * *

Pete Campbell stood in the elevator and held the door as he noticed his co-worker, Harry Crane coming in. He stood there pensively before speaking,

"I'll admit it. I'm a little scared."

"Of what?" Crane replied.

For one horrific moment, Pete believed he spoke too soon.

"Why are you here?" He replied.

"I don't know. Cooper called me." He pulled a cigarette from a pack and placed it in his mouth. "First they're cleaning the carpets, now they're not. Why're you here?"

"Umm…" Pete shrugged. "Work."

They left the elevator unceremoniously, but Pete moved quickly and tried to get through the door first.

"Hey everybody, Harry Crane is here." He said awkwardly.

"Relax Pete, we're expecting him." Lane replied from a small table in the foyer. Roger sat beside him and Cooper across. Kaye was sitting in a chair behind Cooper.

"What's going on? Why are you here?" Pete looked to Lane. Harry, confused, asked,

"I'm sorry, what's going on?"

It was Cooper who broke the silence.

"P.P.L has been sold to McCann, we're starting a new agency, we'd like you to join us as our new head of media." He smiled, nonchalantly.

"Are you kidding me?" Harry said.

Roger with disinterest replied, "Yes, yes we are, happy birthday."

"We need your answer." Cooper prodded.

Harry hesitated, "I... should really call my wife."

"Mr. Crane." Cooper interjected. "Harry, this matter is secret and time-sensitive. If you turned us down and elect to be a mid-level cog at McCann Erickson, we'll have to lock you in the storeroom until Monday morning."

He paused briefly.

"I'm sure you understand."

Harry looked to be a deer in the headlights. He stood a moment quietly.

"Pete." Bert looked over to him.

"We were hoping you could decipher these job sheets." Lane handed him a folder containing material lists.

"I never look at these." Pete was moving to pass them on to Crane but Kaye jutted in, pushing her hand to grab the folder. She flipped open the folder and began reading down the sheet."

"Who's this?" Harry looked to Kaye.

"Kaye Sharpe, she's the Assistant Creative Director. She'll be working under Don." Cooper said, maintaining contact with Harry to watch for his answer.

"When did she get hired?" Pete said, sourly.

"When she inflated the life raft to get us out of McCann." Roger replied, again indifferently reaming through papers. "What's it gonna be, Harry?"

He paused for a second. "Can't we just take everything?"

Cooper smiled and placed his hand over his shoulder.

"That's good thinking, but we don't know where anything is. No one knows how this works." Lane replied.

"I'm sure most of this is in a storage closet or the art department." Kaye said, handing the folder to Harry.

"Let me make a phone call. I'll take care of this."

"No. No more conspirators." Lane objected.

"I'll be discreet." Roger smiled, walking to his office.

"Where's Don?" Pete asked.

"He'll be here soon. Matters at home first." Lane answered. "Where are the accounts files?"

"In the storage room." Kaye said. "There's ten filing cabinets full of paperwork."

"Right then. Harry, Pete, you sort through the accounts files grabbing all we need. Kaye, you and I will work through this job sheet and see what we can find. Boys, meet back here once it's all sorted."

Harry and Pete took off down on of the halls to the storage room. It was already unlocked. They began rummaging through the files and grabbing the necessities for the transition. Kaye and Lane sat at the foyer table and pushed through the main account information on American Tobacco.

It was hours before they were able to complete a rudimentary list of the items required for the transition. The group was huddled around the table when the main door swung open, and Joan waltzed into the foyer.

Roger smiled and stood quickly, followed by Lane.

"Mrs. Harris, what a pleasure to see you."

Cooper stood to greet her.

"What is she doing here?" Lane whispered to Roger.

"I said I'd be discreet."

"I made a list and I called some movers." She showed a long white card with names on it.

"Do you know where all this stuff is." Kaye passed Joan the job sheets.

Joan paused briefly, confused.

"Yes. Of course, you'll need the job bags on all these accounts. We'll also need logo files, all the film we can find, and negatives which aren't actually here."

"There you go." Roger smirked.

"Very good. Now I can pack." Cooper said, slipping away from the crowd.

At that moment Don walked in, Peggy beside him. Kaye scoffed quietly.

"Sorry I'm late." He said, walking towards the table.

"Hi." Peggy said meagerly.

"Joan. What a good idea." Don said joyfully. "Well you're here, what'dya bring?" He faced Pete.

"North Amerian Aviation, Secor, Jai Alai, Samsonite."

Don grabbed the dossiers from Pete.

"Clearasil."

"Really?" Peggy said.

"I made it." Pete replied.

"Where do we start?" Roger said.

"I'd start in the art department." Joan said.

"It's locked." Harry added.

Don, Harry, Pete, and Kaye left the round table walking towards the art department.

"Who was she?" Peggy asked Roger.

"Kaye Sharpe. Assistant Creative Director. Your new underboss."

"What?" Peggy quipped angrily. "When did she get hired?"

"Friday, when she got us all out of McCann." Roger lit a cigarette. "I oughta get her to introduce herself from now on."

"Was there no job interviewing?" Peggy continued.

"There was no job until Friday, Peggy. Who cares? We're not at McCann." Roger sat back down.

Don had just kicked the door open on the other side of the office and Pete, Harry and Kaye walked into to begin compiling supplies. Don turned around, heading for his office.

"What's your experience?" Pete said, turning to Kaye. He was unboxing pencils and typewriter ribbon.

"I've done freelance work for Carnegie Hall, the Maidstone Club, places like that."

"So not much then." Pete finished.

Kaye said nothing.

* * *

It took long hours to complete the required work for the new business. At the close of the day, just past 5pm, the new company was walking out the front doors. Kaye was walking out first, leaning against the back of the elevator.

"I like a confident woman." Harry said, standing in front of Kaye. "It's good to have you on the team."

"Give it a rest, Harry." Pete said.

"What do you want? I'm making conversation."

"Not well." Pete concluded. Kaye smiled. Joan walked in, she was holding a piece of paper that Don handed her.

"What's Don up to?" Harry asked.

"Why don't you ask _him_." She said.

"Ooooo, secrets. I like this." Harry smirked.

"I didn't say it was a secret." Joan smacked her lips.

"He's getting a divorce." Kaye said. There was a brief silence of bewilderment where Pete and Harry turned to her. Harry smiled wildly at her boldness.

"That's an assumption." Joan shot.

"A pretty good one." Kaye ran her hands through her hair. Don and Roger pushed into the elevator. "Finally. Let's go."

"Sorry, had to take in the last breath of stale air. We'll be shining shoes on the streets for the next few years.

"How much are we getting paid."

"Nothing." Kaye lit a cigarette and inhaled slowly. Her cheeks depressed. She exhaled through a thin lisp she made. The elevator was descending rapidly. "We get clients, we get paid."

"Obviously." Joan added.

"Jennifer won't like this." Harry said, reaching for a cigarette.

"Listen." Don spoke up. "None of this is easy. None of this is something we're used to. We're all going out on a limb and taking a risk. We have a team here, we have a goal. Stick to it. Keep your head down."

"Anything for you, Patton." Roger saluted.

"I'm going to the Maidstone Club." Kaye said.

"Partying already? Wait until we land something." Roger quipped.

"Come with me, Roger." Kaye said, exhaling more bluish smoke.

"I'd have to call mother at home."

"I'll make it worth your while." Kaye said, flicking the ashes to the ground.

"I'm sure you would." Joan said. There was a chill in the air. The elevator dinged.

"Men are like dogs, Mrs. Harris." Kaye began. Pete stared intensely at Kaye. "They devote themselves to one lassie for ten minutes, get bored, and leave you for their secretary." She winked. Joan flushed and said nothing; her brows spelled anger. The crowd exited the elevator, pushing through to the lobby entrance.

"I'll come if I drive." Roger said as they made their way onto the street.

"You drive."

"See you tomorrow." Don waved his hat. Everyone agreed and went their separate ways. Kaye followed Roger to a cream white 1959 Cadillac coupe. The top was up, Roger pulled the door open for the young woman and ushered her in. He walked around the opposing side and slide into the car, roaring the V8 to life. They spun around on the road and headed north.

"Where are we going?" Roger asked.

"East Hampton."

"That's quite the drive."

"I said I'd make it worth your while." Kaye reached into her clutch and pulled out a golden flask. She spun the top open, and took a swig.

"Is the party starting now, or later?" Roger held out his hand. Kaye placed the flash in it and he downed a long sip. Kaye took it back, drank twice, and sealed it. She pulled a cigarette from a carton and lit it. Roger did the same.

The drive northeast was uneventful. The sky was darkening more and more as they headed into the evening. Roger spoke about the 'good ole days' of advertising. Kaye sat in silence. The pulled up to the club by 7:30

. There were cars scattered everywhere.

"How are we getting in here?" Roger turned the white behemoth and parked it alongside another Cadillac on the grass.

"It's never about what you know." Kaye exited the car, pushing the great door closed. "It's about whom."

They walked side-by-side up to the front door where a tall, dark, and handsome man stood as the sieve for undesirables.

"Do you have an invitation for tonight's event?"

"Are you serious?" Kaye angered.

"Ma'am, everyone needs an invitation."

"I know Jack Jr., get him out here."

"Ma'am, I don't have time for this."

"Make time, or it will be the last time." She said, unhesitatingly. The man sighed and turned inside, asking another 'sieve' if they would grab the owner, Jack Park Jr. After a moment a tall, slender man with short cut blonde hair appeared. He was conventionally handsome, with some austerity about him. He smiled seeing Kaye.

"Ms. Sharpe. Always a pleasure. Lewis, let them through."

Kaye smiled condescendingly at the man as she and Roger made their way into the club. Jack followed them.

"What brings you out?"

"Business and pleasure."

"Always. The first rounds on the house. Gooday, Ms. Sharpe."

"Gooday, Mr. Park."

"How did you get in here."

"My father."

"Lucky you."

Kaye was silent. They both approached the bar, Kaye ordering a Manhattan and Roger an Old Fashioned with a large lime peel in it. The room was crowded with socialites, celebrities, drunkards and reprobates.

"They say Diana Ross was supposed to be here, but they denied her." Roger looked around.

"They deny a lot of people. It's the most exclusive golf club on the east coast."

There was a brief silence as the barman brought their drinks.

"Business and pleasure, hey?" Roger smiled.

Kaye looked to him. "The only way we're getting off the ground is if we take to the skies."

Roger winced in confusion.

"We need a whale. And I'm harpoon hunting." She drank down the entire Manhattan quickly.

"Who's the target?"

"He's been coming to Maidstone since my father was here. He'll probably come here until he dies."

Roger said nothing but began looking around. An overweight man, in his 60s with peppered grey hair and a clean-shaven face sat down at the bar. His eyes were mid set, nothing distinguishing marked him. He was the average 60-something American man. He was wearing a well tailored suit, that flattered his rotund shape.

Kaye looked over to him slowly, smiling. The man caught her glance eventually, his brows contorting in confusion. He made no move towards them but slowly, a smile began appearing on his face.

"My stars." He said quietly, jolting up quickly and approaching Kaye. "Young Miss Kaye."

"Hello Juan." She stood quickly, wrapping her arms around the old man. He followed.

"It has been a long time since we saw each other." He looked her up and down. "You have become quite the young woman. It must be, well near ten years since I saw you. How are you doing."

"Good, better than I was. Came down from Connecticut a few years ago."

"Good. The big city is much better anyway. How's Elena?"

"She's well. Still up in Bridgeport with Hugh."

"Fantastic. May I sit?" He motioned to the barstool. She nodded and sat back down. "Who's this gentleman with you?"

"Roger Sterling." He stood up, reaching out his hand. The old man shook it gingerly.

"I recognize that name. You're an ad man? Sterling Cooper, up Madison."

"Been my game since daddy dropped me off at the office." Roger smiled.

Juan chuckled. "Of course. I think I did business with your father once in the late 30s. You look just like him."

Roger sat back, wondering if he'd seen the man before.

"Juan Trippe." The man said. "Sorry, I forget to say my name anymore."

"Juan Trippe," Roger did a double take. "As in, _Pan American_ , Juan Trippe?"

"The very same." He laughed jovially.

"What have you been doing?" Kaye turned to the old man. Roger nearly choked on his drink.

"Still working hard. Can't let anyone down you know. Sherry please." He said to the barman. "I saw the work you did for the Club. Colour me impressed!"

The barman poured as Kaye replied. "It wasn't much. Always my sideline."

"False modesty, Miss. Kaye. It doesn't suit you." Trippe winked.

"Thank you, Juan."

Trippe took the sherry the barman placed down and took a long swig.

"They really do have the best stuff here." He put the glass down. "I am flattered you came all the way out for the party."

"Couldn't miss it." She finished her Manhattan. There was a brief silence.

"I've made something of myself." Kaye said, out of the blue.

"Have you now?"

"I have a stake in a new company. We're just starting up,"

"Good for you my dear, good for you." Juan raised his glass. "Your father would be proud."

She gave a slight smile and continued, adjusting her glasses.

"You know me, Juan. You know my capabilities." She hesitated. "I want us to represent you. I want to represent Pan Am."

Trippe took a moment, he leaned slowly against the bar. Sloshing the sherry around in his mouth, he looked to the ceiling and down once again. Roger's hair stood on end.

"If you've just started, you're too small, dear." He placed the sherry down. "I might be inclined to do it, but some freelance work for the Maidstone won't cut it with the board. I'm sorry, Kaye."

"Don't be sorry," Kaye said, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it. "Let us show you we are worth the time."

"I'm sorry dear, I just don't see how they would ever go with some start-up."

"We're not some start-up." Her blood was beginning to boil. "We have Roger, Bert Cooper, people who've been in the industry since you took your first flight. They are with us financially. Then we have people like Don Draper, the kingpin of creative."

Trippe stood up, finishing the sherry.

"Listen, it was great to see you, Kaye. I appreciate you coming out. Let's not spoil the mood with business talk. I'm here, you're here, to have a relaxing night."

She inhaled deeply on the cigarette and took Juan by the arm, bringing hers into the crook of his elbow.

"Walk with me." She protested, pulling him away from Roger and through the lounge. He followed her steps.

"Juan, you've known me, my family, since I was born. We've been hard-up since my father died. Elena and Hugh are barely making it by in Bridgeport, and I abandoned them 3 years ago. I stole father's Nash and I built it into a home because I've lived on the streets. I did work for Carnegie Hall that was all but consistent, and I was a beggar on the streets for over a year now. The Maidstone job got me by for 3 months, but I'm flush out now, and I need you."

Juan's face fell, and he regretted being taken aside. Kaye's pride hurt exorbitantly, and she detested recanting her life.

"I'm not asking for you to throw your whole company at us without trial." She placed the cigarette to her lips and inhaled, blowing out a long plume.

"I'm asking you to let us come to you, with a campaign that would make your board pat you on the back and give you a raise."

The old man stood a long moment in contemplation. He smirked, scoffed, and looked into her eyes.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"Alright." He silenced her. "You, and your band, have one chance."

"Thank you, Juan." Kaye flicked the ashes from her cigarette into a gold tray standing again a partition wall.

"One chance. And do not make a fool of me, Kaye. I am going out on a _long_ limb for you. Do not make a fool of me."

"I never have before." She smoked. "I never will."

* * *

The rest of the evening went by uneventfully. Kaye came back to Roger with the news, and he was stricken with silence and excitement. They drank voraciously, and upon leaving the club were quite inebriated. Roger slumped into the car, missing the keyhole with his keys a few times. Kaye pulled her dress close as she reclined into the leather couch.

"Let's go" She said, slurring slightly.

"I'm trying." Roger laughed.

"Be careful. I don't wanna die." Kaye grabbed Roger's fedora and placed it over her eyes.

"Are you gonna sleep on me? I don't even know where to drop you off." Roger began backing out. He tapped another car while in reverse. "Whoops." He mumbled, shifting to drive.

"Take my back to the office. I live near there."

"Okay, that doesn't make any sense but okay."

"It does make sense." She said, speaking through the hat. "I jus- don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay."

Roger took off flying down Old Beach Road back towards New York City in the late evening. He was sober minded enough to know to watch the lines but drunk enough to be reckless. He crossed the yellow line many times; in the late night, it didn't matter as much. Roger absent mindedly forgot to return to Manhattan and drove to his own house. Kaye had slumped over sideways, laying across the bench seat, her head near Roger's lap. He was too drunk to get excited. He pulled up in front of his own house, turning off the loud radio and finally the car. He strolled inside, leaving Kaye in the dark.


	4. Chapter 4 - Nineteen Sixty Four

Hewlett Bay Park, New York

December, 1963

Jane Sterling was walking down the stairs of her home when she noticed the front door was cracked open.

Roger had come in late in the night, slumped over on the bed beside her in his clothes and laid face down. Jane woke for a moment when he fell, she pushed him to see he was alive, and left the bedroom in her robe. The hall was freezing, there was some snow that had blown in through the crack in the door.

Jane ran up to the door and closed it quickly.

"Roger." She scoffed, moving her hair out of the way, and began moving back towards the grand staircase in the house. She stepped up but noticed the door to the study was open. She turned, moving towards the study to pull the door closed.

There was a slumped figure in the corner. It shocked Jane and she let out a light scream. The figure didn't move. She moved closer, quietly, with great curiosity. It was a young girl, perhaps just a few years her senior. She reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. There was a long black overcoat over her. Her glasses were hanging from her outstretched hand, and her strawberry ginger hair was swept back underneath the couch pillows.

Jane pushed her; no response. She pushed her again, more forcefully. Again, no response.

"Hello?" Jane said. "Hello!" She yelled. The girl stirred. The girl looked up, looked back down and closed her eyes.

"Can I help you?" Jane said, clutching her robe tightly to herself.

"No, I'm fine." The girl replied.

Jane leaned back, her jaw slacked.

"What are you doing here?"

"Roger." The girl mumbled.

"What?" Jane asked.

"Roger." She yawned. "Left me in the car. It's freezing."

"Where did he pick you up?" Jane's face flushed.

"What?" the girl sat up.

"Which club did he pick you up from? I'm going to call you a cab." Jane turned around.

"He didn't pick me up from a club." The girl put her glasses on, running her hand through her hair. "I work at Sterling Cooper."

"You work with him?" She raised her voice.

"Kaye Sharpe." The girl extended her hand.

"You bring my husband home, drunk, at some ungodly hour, and you expect me to shake your hand?" Jane's voice was raised.

"Get over yourself." Kaye retracted her hand. Jane recoiled back, her face becoming bright red. "If I fucked him, why would I sleep in your damn living room." She laughed lightly, still feeling the residual effects of the alcohol.

Jane had no response but instead, clenched her fist and punched the opposing woman square on her face. Kaye fell back in shock, her glasses breaking in half at the bridge. Her lip was cut, and her nose bled slowly. Jane covered her mouth, gasping.

Kaye said nothing.

She pulled the glasses pieces from her face and found her footing once again. She adjusted the large gold signet ring on her right hand and swung at Jane's head. It connected just above Jane's temple and she was knocked back briskly onto the large oaken desk. She slumped down to the floor, clutching her head and screamed loudly. Kaye squatted down beside Jane, spitting blood onto the floor. She grabbed Jane by her chin and dragged her eyes to hers.

"Don't touch me, again." She slapped her across her cheek.

Roger rushed into the room, staggering and looking at Jane.

"What the hell is going on?" He yelled angrily.

"I'm reprimanding your child." Kaye stood up and moved towards Roger.

"Jane what the hell happened."

There were big globules of tears streaking down Jane's face, a large red hand-print visible now on her face.

"I-I-I don't know, she was sleeping there and then I got scared and hit her." She sobbed. Roger ran to her side and sat beside her.

"It's okay, Jane." He rubbed her arms. Kaye left the room, walking into the great hall. She looked around and moved towards the front door.

Roger appeared in the doorway.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He yelled.

"Keep your cat in the kennel." Kaye was observing her face in the mirror. Her lip was growing, and blood was streaked down her chin from her nose.

"That was way out of line." Roger's anger was dissipating.

"Wouldn't have happened if you dropped me off like I asked, and you forgot me in the car."

There was a brief silence while Roger thought.

"I forgot," He hesitated. "I need a drink." Roger turned and walked away. Jane appeared in the doorway, glaring at Kaye who was cleaning herself.

"I want you out of my house." She said, rubbing her cheek.

"Tell Roger he can pick up his car from work." She grabbed the silver keys from the entrance table, and pulled the door open, snatching Roger's fedora and placing it on her head.

"Hey you can—"

Kaye slammed the door and walked out to the Cadillac, covered in a light layer of snow. She sat down in the driver's seat, started the engine and began backing out. Jane came running after her in her robe, clutching it tightly to herself. She was clearly screaming at Kaye but the rumble of the car, and the comforting hum of the radio over road her. Kaye stopped just short of backing into Jane, and as the woman chased her down the drive, Kaye hit the main road and floored it. A plume of white snow and gravel shot into the wake. She raised the volume and rolled the dial until she heard a soft jazz piano playing Autumn Leaves. Her father took her to various hotels during the war as a young girl to hear Kosma play, along with Enoch Light, and this was her favourite song.

Her mind went back to those days, in the cold Connecticut winters, when her father would drive her and her sister to New York for the theatre or some symphony. "There's nothing worse than being uncultured," He told her. Kaye accelerated quickly, leaving Hewlett Bay Park in her rear view. She could feel her heart swing with the chords of the song. Tears came to her eyes, and she began to silently cry. Pulling a cigarette from her clutch, she trembled as she snapped the roller on the lighter a few times before it lit. She inhaled, throwing the lighter aside. The suburb was disappearing behind her, and she was flying down the freeway doing 90. Other cars were falling behind as if they were standing still. She flicked the ashes from her cigarette into the car's ashtray. Traffic condensed once she hit Manhattan, and she slowed down to match speed. Eventually she pulled up out front of the office and parked the car, walking inside, taking the elevator to Sterling Cooper's floor. Don had left the front door unlocked, so she made her way into the office, finding a long orange couch in one of the break rooms. She pulled her coat over her body and threw Roger's fedora onto the table.

* * *

A door slammed in the distance. There was hustling around in the main room. Kaye could hear people speaking in a hushed manner. She kept her eyes shut, laying still on the sofa.

"Pete tried to poach John Deere on Saturday."

Ken Cosgrove was speaking. She could hear a woman crying nearby. People were scattering around the office.

"Good morning, Mr. Hooker." She heard a British manicured accent speaking loudly down the hall.

"Did you hear?" Ken walked into the break room, opening the fridge. "Everyone quit."

"Yeah." Kaye said still holding her eyes shut.

"Hey, your nose is bleeding." Ken said with worry.

"It was yesterday." She replied.

"Are you okay?" the trim, handsome, blonde man had moved towards her, observing her face.

"I'm fine."

"You look like you fell down the stairs."

"Just a cat fight." She finally opened her eyes, realizing Ken was not leaving.

"That's really rough for you, sorry about your job." Ken moved back, allowing her to sit up.

"I have another one lined up."

"Wow." He smirked. "Good for you." He raised his coffee mug in cheers.

"I dunno what I'm gonna do." Ken hummed. "I don't mind working at McCann. It's not really my bag though."

"In life we often have to do things that are just not our bag." She quoted.

"Isn't that the truth." He smiled. "I'm going to go find Lane, have a question for him."

"Good luck."

Ken sprang from the room and Kaye stood up, stretching out the kinks formed in her neck because of the lack of pillow, and rolling out her arms. She walked from the smaller break room to the lunch room and opened the fridge, pulling out an apple and a jar of milk. She downed the milk, throwing the jar in the garbage and finished her apple.

"You're still here?" Lane's manicured accent appealed from behind her. She turned, chewing her apple.

"Slept on the couch. Long night."

"Apparently." He paused. "I've just been sacked."

"Like clockwork." Kaye smiled.

"Listen," He walked closer to her, hushing his tone. "We're at the Pierre. Fourth floor, room 465. I'm about to head there now. I'm going to call a cab, we can share."

"I have a car. We'll take that. Do you have your things?"

"Mr. Hooker is dealing with them."

"I'll follow you out." Kaye grabbed her long overcoat and Roger's fedora, placing it on her head.

"Quite an unorthodox hat." Lane commented.

"I'm always unorthodox." She said.

The Cadillac was still sitting out front of the building and she unlocked the door.

"Quite the car." Lane smirked.

"Not mine."

"Ahh."

The monster took off towards East 61st, and eventually over to 5th Avenue. They rolled up out front of the Pierre, Lane making small talk during the trip and some occasions. Kaye parked the car, and they took the elevator silently. The walked down the white-washed halls and knocked at 465. Joan opened the door, smiling at Lane and indifferently looking to Kaye.

"There you are." Pete said. "You're late."

"Can't control when you're fired." Lane laughed.

Kaye sat down on the sofa beside Roger and placed the fedora on his head, and his car keys into his hand.

"Sorry." She said, looking around the room.

"You're lucky you have a contract." Roger, smirking, looked over to Lane. "Hey, throw your shoes out front, they'll clean them."

"Really?" Peggy asked.

"If you leave your shoes outside here, they will polish them." He confirmed. Don emerged from the bedroom near the back of the hotel room.

"Hello Don." Lane spoke.

"How was your morning?" Don smiled.

"Very productive." He replied.

"Kaye, good morning." Don continued.

"Morning." She replied, looking to him.

"Again," Joan said. "Do not under any circumstances bring clients to this hotel. Use any other hotel in this whole city, except this one."

"We have an announcement to make." Roger said, clasping his hands together, and standing. "Now, I know we all want to stay at the Pierre forever, but we're looking forward with Sterling Cooper and Friends expansion." He moved over and grabbed a drink from the table. "The Maidstone Club last night was fruitful."

Don looked to Kaye, who sat unmoving. He now saw that she looked battered and her glasses were gone. She had that look of timeless beauty, despite the pain. Not like Betty who had that hot beauty that excites every sense, but just that everlasting beauty that accepts a man as he walks into his home, and he never gets bored of that kiss on the cheek. She was still very youthful though, more so than Jane Sterling.

"Dear Miss Kaye spoke to an old friend of hers, Juan Trippe at the club, and through some smooth talking, we have a pitch at the end of January with Pan Am."

Pete interjected immediately, "Like _Pan American_ Pan Am? The airline?"

Joan smiled, looking over to Lane, Don, and then Roger.

"Kids got talent." Roger raised his glass. "Here's to you Kaye. You promised a whale. You caught the leviathan."

"So, we have a month to throw together everything for the biggest airline in the world?" Pete continued.

"All hands on deck." Kaye quipped.

Don, leaning down raised his glass.

"Our nights are about to get a lot longer."

"And our days too." Lane smiled, picking up a water glass.

"Cheers." Roger said, and those with drinks drank them down.

"Kaye, I want you working with Peggy." Don started. Kaye spun on the spot to face Don. "We'll start brainstorming this afternoon. Joan, when's that table going to be here."

"The movers said this afternoon." She reefed through some files.

"Do we have to work together?" Peggy whined.

"She's your boss, Peggy." Don replied, sternly. Kaye didn't bother looking to Peggy who scoffed.

"We're all playing nice." Don continued. "We need this, more than anything right now."

"It'll beat the hell out of a hotel room." Harry said, running towards the bedroom.

"Kaye, you're coming with me. We'll be back in a few hours. Peggy, get started."

"I don't even have a table!" She complained.

"Use the coffee table, I don't care, just start."

"I'll call Pan Am." Roger finished another glass and placed it down beside Joan. "Joannie, could you call in and pretend to be my secretary. Old times sake."

Joan smirked, "Yes, I suppose."

Don motioned to Kaye to walk out. She placed her beige overcoat on and walked beside Don.

"Where are we going?" She said in the hall.

"Grieg's Optical." He replied, calling the elevator.

They rode down to the lobby in silence and walked through the golden front doors. Don's Cadillac was parked south, and they walked momentarily. He opened the door for her, and she slid into the seat. Don followed. They pulled out into traffic, and he began speaking.

"I know you don't say much—"

"Thank you." She said.

"For what?"

"Thank you." She repeated, looking to him intently. He understood. They continued riding in silence.

* * *

"Good morning, this is Joan Harris calling from Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, I'm calling regarding a meeting which our Senior Partner Roger Sterling had with Mr. Trippe last evening. Would he be available for a conversation?"

There was a moment's silence on the line. The meek secretary put the line through to Trippe's personal phone. The old man picked up.

"Trippe here."

Roger took the receiver from Joan's hand.

"Mr. Trippe, it's Roger Sterling. We met last night at the Maidstone."

"Of course." A brief pause. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, we never got the details of what you wanted from us."

There was another silence.

"Mr. Sterling, I'll be frank. I'm just doing this as a favour to a friend—"

"And we appreciate that." Roger added quickly.

"—Good. As I was saying, it's a favour, so I'm asking you not to be optimistic."

"We don't need optimism, we just need the chance."

"Well—I spoke with the board. They aren't enthusiastic. But they are willing to hear anything that means more business. I have time, as I told Kaye, towards the end of the month. You come to us at Park Avenue and we'll sit in. I suppose you'll have about a half hour."

"I'll have my secretary keep all this down." Roger sat against the desk beside Joan.

"You really need an ace in the bag, Mr. Sterling. I hope you understand that."

"We'll put out all the stops." He smiled through the phone.

"You'll need it. Goodbye, Mr. Sterling." Trippe hung up the receiver, Roger followed.

"So?" Joan implored.

"Well," Roger pulled a cigarette from his case. "I've worked on worse accounts than this will be."

"Oh, Roger." She sighed.

He inhaled on his cigarette. "Whatya think the chances of us landing this are?" He looked thoughtfully to the ceiling.

"The talent pool is deep and wide." She said, without looking up.

"I suppose." He paused.

"When did we hire Kaye Sharpe?" Joan asked from the blue.

"Friday." Roger continued smoking.

"No, I mean before."

"I don't remember. I don't remember anyone we hire. I hardly remember hiring Don."

"Funny, I don't remember hiring her either."

Roger cocked his head in thought.

"She's smart. Reminds me of you, Joannie."

"I don't like her."

"That's exactly what you'd say about yourself." Roger said.

"She's arrogant." Joan continued, standing and moving towards one of the sandwiches Trudy brought in. She picked it up and unwrapped it, taking a bite.

"Certainly." Roger said. "Who isn't in this business."

"Why are you defending her?" Joan asked, innocently.

"I like her." He said, picking up a glass of whiskey. "Let's go for lunch."

"We just got here."

"Let's go for breakfast, what's the difference?" he said, putting on his coat.

"Fine." She moved for her coat. "Pete, look after the children."

Peggy scoffed without glancing from her work.

* * *

New Years 1963 came uneventfully. A memoriam for Kennedy was held in Rockefeller Square over the weeks following, even though the government mandated mourning period ended, and the cool weather continued to whistle and blow between the tall towers of the bustling city. It was awash with grey most days, and damply cool.

Pete Campbell was struggling to maintain Samsonite but had wrangled the troops to give a decent pitch which was accepted, bringing some mall victory to SCDP, albeit no more cash. Peggy was spread thin as she, Kaye and Don worked almost around the clock coming up with ideas, writing them down, and then throwing the ideas into the trash for Pan Am. Roger had managed to bring in Tandberg, the radio company. It wasn't much, but it was something. Harry was busy building up the framework for the television department, which Bert Cooper saw as the future of the advertisement industry. Joan spent almost all day organizing clients, calling clients, setting dinners with client, and turning Room 465 at the Pierre into a real office. The couches had all gone, Don was moved to the second bedroom, there were cubicles in the main room, and much to Roger's chagrin, the bed was taken out of the first bedroom and replaced with Harry's mess of desks and spreadsheets.

New York, New York

Mid-January 1964

Kaye Sharpe was leaning back in a swivel chair, holding a cigarette to her lips, and looking in the mirror, hung above the fireplace in Room 465 at the Pierre. She had moved her chair out of the cubicle that Joan had created for her, which was barely enough to fit her desk and chair, and she sat almost in the middle of the room. The clacking of a typewriter resounded in her head, the reaming of paper, ribbon spooling; somewhere in the distance Harry Crane was on the phone. She exhaled slowly on thick blue smoke, adjusted her black horn-rimmed glasses, and looked down to a newspaper on the small coffee table near the fireplace. Moving over, she picked it up, opened it and began reading.

"Did you do the colouring for the Jai Lai ad?" Peggy leaned out of her cubicle, in front of Kaye.

"I'm just going to multi-layer print it."

"It's cheaper if we just colour it here."

"It's easier if I print it." Kaye said.

"We're trying to be frugal, Kaye."

"I'll take it out of my own pocket." Kaye flipped the pages of the paper, allowing the cigarette to dangle from her lips. "Have you got anything for Pan Am?"

"I have a few ideas, I'll share them at the meeting."

"What meeting?" Kaye asked.

"We have a meeting in 10 minutes with Don. In the second bedroom."

"I'll join you. I love bedroom meetings." Roger said, peeping his head over his far cubicle.

"Good morning." Don said, entering and removing his coat. Joan stood up from her desk and took his coat and hat from him.

"Good morning, Mr. Draper." She said, hanging them on a far standing hanger.

"Peggy, Kaye, my office." He strut past them. Roger stood up, following Kaye.

The threesome entered the bedroom, closing the door. Don had a medium-sized desk set up, made of ugly particle board, and an orange tall chair behind it. The room was devoid of anything on the walls and consisted only of a drinks cart.

"I see you have your priorities straight." Roger moved smoothly to the cart and began pouring.

"Where are we on Jai Lai?" He asked, sitting down.

"Printing them off today." Kaye said.

"Good. The pitch is Thursday, at the Roosevelt. How about Pan Am."

Roger leaned against the window, looking down on the street. There was a brief silence.

"I have a few options. Television and print." Peggy said, pulling out a file folder.

"Okay shoot."

"Harry" Kaye yelled. "Get in here."

Peggy leaned against Don's desk, ruminating on her choices. Harry walked in.

"What?" he said.

"A little boy, he's boarding a Pan Am flight, holding his mother's hand. She's dressed well, not overly well. Her husband is beside her, in a suit, smiling at the stewardess as they enter the plane. The little boy is worried. He seems scared. The stewardess escorts them to their seats, they all sit down. The stewardess notices the boy is worried, bends down, and addresses him. _What's wrong, Timmy?_ She says. _I've never flown before. I'm scared._ The stewardess smiles. _There's nothing to worry about Timmy, you're on the greatest airline in the world_ , she stands up and the narrator says _Pan Am Airlines. The Greatest in the World._ "

"Not bad." Harry smirked. "We could rent a cheap set to build a tiny portion of the plane. Wouldn't take much."

"I don't like that it's reliant on them actually being the greatest airline in the world." Don stood up, pouring himself a drink beside Roger.

"If someone has a bad experience," Roger added. "They'll say Pan Am was lying to them. That their ad was a lie. It's not the greatest in the world. That's a PR disaster."

"That Pan Am 707 slammed into some town in Maryland last month." Kaye said. "They aren't on good footing with 'safest and greatest' right now."

"It's a good ad, Peggy." Don said, handing her a glass with a small amount of whiskey. "Just not right now."

"Planes crash every year. People still fly." She protested.

"This is Pan Am's first crash in a decade. The last one was in '52. People won't remember '52. They will remember December 1963." Kaye said.

"I remember '52. Good year for merlot." Roger said.

"How'd you figure that out?" Harry asked.

"Well I drank a lot of merlot."

"I mean about the crash."

"The papers. Big spread in the journal after it happened." Kaye butted her cigarette in Don's crystal ashtray.

"Okay, so what else have you got." Don said.

"Well—that was sort of the big idea. Everything else branches off that." Peggy said.

"Great." Don put down his glass after having a sip. Peggy held hers nervously. "Get back out there and keep going."

"You're not going to ask me?" Kaye said.

"If you had something you would have said it." Don sat down in his chair.

Kaye and Peggy turned, leaving the room.

"We have a lot riding on this race." Roger said, drinking.

"I know." Don replied. "We'll have it."

"I can grease the wheels over there."

"We need the ad. Not more time." Don stood from his seat. "Harry you can go now."

Harry left quietly.

"Joan, can you come in here." Don yelled out the door.

The tall redhead strode into the room sporting a blue dress.

"Yes, Mr. Draper?"

"Call Pan Am, I want to go on a tour of their planes."

"We're going on vacation? I'll start packing. I hear Tahiti is nice this time of year." Roger said.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do." She smiled, and slipped out of the room, closing the door.

"I need them to see what their missing." Don said, pouring more whiskey beside Roger.

"So, you're going to take them to Tahiti?"

"It's not about the destination, it's about the _journey_." Don slowed as he finished the sentence. He looked down out the window.

"Kaye, get in here." Don yelled.

The young woman walked in, closing the door.

"It's not about the destination, it's about the journey." He repeated, smiling.

"Okay—" Kaye said, waiting for more.

"We show a family, about to leave for vacation. They have their bags packed." He moved towards her. "The kids are complaining, _are we there yet?_ The mother sympathetically smiles, _no dear, we haven't even left yet._ They are getting on the plane, Pan Am logo in the background. They take their seats, _Dad are we there yet?_ The son asks, his father turns to him, _Son, sometimes it's all about the journey, not the destination._ "

Kaye was writing notes down. She pushed her frames up her nose bridge and looked to Don. "Get rid of ' _not the destination_ '. Every journey is about a destination, and it's implied that the journey matters."

 _"It's all about the journey._ " Roger smiled.

"It fades to black; _Pan Am. It's all about the journey_." Kaye said, looking only at her notebook.

"Or _Take Your Journey with Us_ , something to invite them." Don said. "Get to work on that with Peggy. We're going to Idlewild—or John F. Kennedy I guess it is now, to see Pan Am today. Joan is organizing it."

"Alright." Kaye walked out of the room and out to Peggy. She threw down the notebook on Peggy's desk. She read it over.

"You had this and never shared it?" Peggy questioned.

"If I had this, I would have shared it. Don came up with it."

Peggy sat and read through Kaye's notes.

"It's good. Inviting, realistic."

"We're going to JFK to see the planes."

"Might bring something up to us." Peggy said.

"That's the point." Kaye sat down at her desk and began writing.


	5. Chapter 5 - Oh Sister, Where Art Thou?

JFK International Airport, New York

January 1964

Joan had called in after Don requested the Pan Am meeting, and after some wrangling of interns across the wire, she managed to speak with the fleet manager. They indicated that an upper-class clipper 707 was at the terminal for some minor repairs but could be boarded. There were attendants more than willing to accommodate and show the plane. Kaye and Peggy road with Don in his Cadillac and they arrived on the foggy morning just before 11:00 A.M. at the Pan Am Worldport. A porter was waiting at the port to escort the threesome to the plane, which was at the far corner of the port; some ground crew were underneath it, moving around.

"Welcome to the Clipper of the Skies," the porter said. A woman, dress all in blue with a small blue cap on, started walking beside them.

"Mr. Sykes briefed us on your visit." She said. "My name is Caitlin, I will be guiding you around today."

"Pleasure, Caitlin." Don smiled, shaking her hand lightly. "I'm Don, this is Kaye, and Peggy." He motioned to the girls with the fedora removed from his head.

"Follow me," She smiled to Don. Kaye smirked at Peggy. "I'm not sure exactly what you three want to see…" They were walking down the jetway.

"Inspiration." Don said. "We want to see what makes Pan Am, Pan Am."

"You'll get that here." Caitlin smiled, she moved her dark brown hair away from her brown eyes. "The Clipper of the Skies was built three years ago, the first of the _first-class_ fleet. This plane does extra-continental trips to Europe mostly, some to South Africa as well. It has the most luxurious cabin we offer; the average seat is 400$ one way."

They were walking down the aisle past the seats. Many of them were lounge style, against the wall, even some facing each other. There was a bar in the middle of the plane, small but covered in mirrors and plated glass.

"Wonder where Roger would be." Peggy said.

"The bar is free for all passengers on the flight." Caitlin added. They eventually reached the rear of the plane, turned around and began walking back. "Do you have any questions?"

"What's it like to be a stewardess?" Peggy asked.

"It's a dream." The young girl smiled. "I've wanted to do this since I was in high school. Pan Am came and did recruitment at the schools in my senior year. I volunteered and got accepted."

"Of course you did." Don said. She smiled to him.

"What makes Pan Am different than TWA, or any other airline." Kaye asked.

The woman sat down in one of the chairs, and the Sterling Cooper team followed.

"The kindness." She said. "They pay is frankly better too. The food, the planes themselves. You're buying the experience, I suppose." She said.

 _You're buying_ _ **experience**_ **.** Kaye jotted down on a notebook. Don sat close to Caitlin, facing her.

"Tell me about the passengers." He said.

"Most of them are businessmen." She started. "We have some families aboard _The Skies_. They're normally from Sandy Point or some _nouveau-riche_ area of the city."

"You live in New York?" Peggy asked.

"Yes, over in Washington Heights."

"Washington Heights?" Kaye questioned.

"What's the point of buying the ground when you work in the sky?" She quipped.

"It's all about the journey, then." Don said.

"Yes." She grinned. "I'd never trade my job."

Kaye stood up, walking over to the bar. Don was enraptured with the young nubile woman, Peggy was enraptured with her notes. Kaye leaned over the bar, opening the small fridge where she found a mickey of spiced rum. She cracked the top open and began drinking. The rum was ice cold. She could see in her mind, a young handsome man behind the bar, surrounded by old men dressed in smart suits pretending to be young again. Perhaps a stray family sitting together, all well dressed and laughing. Some beautiful socialite women, the wives of the Whitney's, the Rockefeller's and the Rothchild's, smoking together in a corner on the lounge sofa; a stewardess doting on their every need. The tips flowing like wine. The whole plane is drunk on themselves, their excessive largess. The _Clipper of the Skies_ is not a plane, it's a lifestyle. Pan Am is life, it's not just a job. Pan Am doesn't give you a trip, they give you the world.

"You're not supposed to drink that." Caitlin said, turning from Don to face Kaye. She raised the bottle to her lips once again, downing another drink. Kaye walked over to Caitlin, who seemed very worried. She pulled a 5$ bill from her clutch and gave it to the girl.

"Is that enough to ease your nerves?"

"Alright." The girl took the bill. "Just don't drink anymore. And don't let any of the porters see you."

Kaye sat back down beside Don, putting her arm behind his back.

Don continued asking questions of the stewardess who eagerly answered them. She looked to him with great open eyes, a reminder of her eternal love for maturity. Kaye felt ill that the woman was so naïve and foolish.

"Do you have a number I could reach you at?" Don asked, pleasantly. The young girl blushed. "Just in case I have any more questions."

"Of course." She pulled out a napkin, Don handed her a golden pen, and she wrote down her number.

"Perfect." He looked to her, not like a buck to a doe, but a cougar. "Thank you for the tour."

The Sterling Cooper team stood with Don, following Caitlin off the of Clipper.

"Talk soon." Don said, motioning for Kaye and Peggy to walk out first.

Kaye pulled a cigarette from her silver case, lighting it, offering one to Peggy. She hesitated, and then took it. Kaye reached over, lighting the end for her. Don was trailing behind.

"She has nice legs," Kaye mentioned. "Wonder when they open."

Peggy laughed under her breath. Don said nothing.

* * *

Caitlin, covered in sweat, let out a scream of extasy, and rolled off Don. They had met up an hour after the Sterling Cooper team got back to the office. Don placed a call through to the Pan Am Worldport and caught her before she'd even left. She eagerly agreed to meet for lunch, and they took a cab to Caitlin's small apartment in Washington Heights. It was a drab small brownstone, nestled between the immigrants of America.

Don smiled and looked at her with intense eyes.

"I've never been with an older man before." She opened.

Don's ego hurt slightly.

"We're not all bad." He said, rolling himself towards the edge of the bed. Caitlin moved towards him and pushed her bare chest into his back.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Back to work." He smiled, kissing her gently, holding her arm.

"Take the day off. You've been working too hard." She kissed him vigorously.

"I wish." Don said. "I'll call you." He stood up, placing his underwear and pants back on. Caitlin laid back down, pulling the sheets over herself.

"I hope so." She looked to him. "I hope you enjoyed your flight." She grinned.

"I'll have to take the round-trip next time." Don said, buttoning his white collared shirt, and sliding on his suit jacket. He picked up his fedora, sliding it onto his head. "I owe you a drink."

"You do." She said. "I'm mostly here on the weekends. You caught me on the right day."

"I'll remember that." He said, sliding out the front door.

* * *

Kaye was sitting in Don's chair when he returned to the office in the early afternoon. She was leaning back, reading through some notes waiting for him to return.

"How was Caitlin?" Kaye opened. Don smirked but ignored the question.

"Did you get something new?"

"What is there to get? They're selling experience."

" _An_ experience." Don said.

"No. They're selling experience. Pan Am is the only airline in the world that is actually worldwide. They have access to every corner of the globe, and they know it. If you can, why not charge 400$ a seat and sell their experience."

Don curled his lower lip in thought and moved towards the drinks cart. Kaye stood up.

"Keep working with Peggy on the _journey_ segment. Fill Harry in on what you learned. Maybe we can just film the ad on the plane."

Kaye left the office and walked towards her cubicle.

"Joan have you got the mail?" Kaye asked.

"It's on your desk." Joan replied from behind the short wall.

Kaye checked her desk, and there was a card from her sister, along with a big pile of documents sent from Pan Am. How her sister found her at the hotel, Kaye would never know. It shortly detailed what Elena and Hugh were up to, and that she would be coming by New York in a month for Hugh's business. She was begging Kaye to meet. Kaye threw the card into the trash. Underneath the Pan Am documents was a large envelope, mailed from Reno to Donald F. Draper. Kaye's curiosity began biting at her.

"Joan, could you call for some hot water and tea."

"Alright." She huffed, placing a call to the front desk. It took 10 minutes, but a bellman arrived with a steel kettle and tea cup, beautifully ornate, and a small bag of orange pekoe. He put it in Kaye's cubicle beside her.

Kaye took the large envelope with Don's name on it and ran the steaming water from the kettle over the glued area. The glue loosened under the heat and moisture and came loose. She poured herself some tea and pulled the heap of paperwork from the envelope.

It detailed of the separation agreement between Don and 'Elizabeth Draper.' The terms were clear, that she would have the children during the week and Don would take them on the weekend. Sally, Robert, and Eugene, their three children.

"What are you reading?" Peggy leaned around the corner.

"None of your business." Kaye covered up the paperwork. "What do you need?"

"How does Don do that?" Peggy asked.

"Do what?"

"With that stewardess."

Kaye paused. "Girls want to be manipulated, played, chased."

"No, they don't." She recoiled.

"No, you don't." Kaye said. "Just because you're a Daughter of Bilitis doesn't mean we all are."

Joan audibly laughed in the background.

"I resent that!" Peggy shouted. "I am not."

"Denial is the first step on the road to recovery." Kaye slammed the documents down on her desk.

Peggy scoffed loudly and began walking away. She turned around and came back briefly,

"I'll have you know, I have been with a man."

"You don't need to convince me." Kaye said, swigging back a flask.

"You're a lush, you know that?"

"What does that say about you then? Copywriter dragged along by her dad, Donald Draper."

Peggy blushed beet red and bit her tongue with great difficulty. She grabbed Kaye by the arm and dragged her into Harry's office.

"Can I help you?" Harry said, turning to face them

"Get out." Peggy said.

"Wha—"

"Get out!" She shouted. Harry stood quietly and left the room, closing the door.

"Why do you hate me? It's because I'm independent, isn't it?"

"Hate you? I hardly think about you." Kaye said, reaching into her silver case for a cigarette. Peggy ripped the case from her hand and threw it on the ground. The cigarettes spilled out everywhere.

"You're being a child. You are a child." Peggy said.

Kaye started. "You think because you're a woman, and you're a senior copywriter, that you deserve respect. That people should honour you, build monuments to you, and commend your amazing achievements when in the end all you are is a woman copywriter in a man's world. This job is all about taking bullshit and turning it into some bullshit a man wants his wife to buy. Stop being a jealous bitch."

Peggy stood silently. Kaye reached down, picking up a half-smoked cigarette, and relit it.

"Don't be such a damn drag, Peggy. You're so tight nuns would be jealous of your ass." She opened the door to Harry's office and stepped out. "Pick up my cigarettes and bring them to me."

* * *

Sally Draper was at home, resting in her bed. She had complained that morning of a fever to her mother, and touched her head to her lamp, which burnt her skin slightly but left her skin hot enough Betty was concerned. Betty gave her a thermometer, left the room, and upon returning, Sally was running a fever of 101. Sally held the tip of the thermometer to the lamp again, but Betty was too busy to be worried. She allowed her eldest child to stay home.

"You have to rest and stay in your room." Betty told Sally, twice before she went to get baby Gene.

"Fine." Sally said. She laid back in her bed and allowed her mother to go downstairs before she cracked the door. Henry Francis was downstairs, at the kitchen table. Sally could make out their conversation barely.

"Sally's going to be home all day." Betty announced.

"She's sick?" Henry responded.

"Fever."

"You don't think she's fooling you?"

"I took her temperature."

"Were you watching her the whole time?" Henry asked.

"No…" Betty hesitated. "I was only gone for 2 minutes putting up my hair."

"She could have fooled you then."

"Henry, stop." Betty stammered.

"I just don't want her taking advantage of you, Betty."

"My daughter isn't always trying to take advantage of me. Sometimes, she's just 10 years old and that's that."

Sally could hear her mother pull out a chair and sit down at the table.

"I'm sorry Betty." Henry said. "I just wanted to be home alone, together, today."

"I know." Betty said. "We'll have other times."

"Work is winding up, the elections secured but Rocky is talking all about this highway deal he wants to secure and it's taking up a lot of my time."

"So what are you saying?"

"I don't know what my schedule will be."

"You're not going to be around at all, is what you're saying." Betty said.

"All I'm saying is that I don't know how busy I'll be. I just wanted to be with you."

"Henry, the children matter to me."

There was a brief silence. Sally took them time to go back into her room and began dressing herself. She put on a white shirt with some overalls and did up her hair. After this, she went back to the door, cracking it open again. There was some silence downstairs, she could hear her mother and Henry moving around, but no voices. She could hear her mother speaking quietly in a low tone,

"Henry… not now…"

It was followed by another silence. Her mother quietly said,

"Oh, I know, I wish she was gone too…"

Sally's face turned bright red. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sat trembling in the hall for a moment. After composing herself, she moved back into the bedroom, grabbing a canvas satchel and she filled it with a few clothes, extra socks, and a light rain slicker. The cold had staved off enough that day that Sally was willing to chance a trip to the bus stop. She grabbed a nickel, a dime, and 5 dollars from her bedside drawer, meant for emergencies. She threw the satchel over her shoulder, and walked into the hall. Her mother and Henry were silent, save some moving of furniture and what sounded like heavy breathing. Sally made her way cautiously down the stairs, using the very edge of the stairs against the wall as to make the least noise. Only a few stairs creaked, specifically the bottom. The front door was right in front of her. She swiftly grabbed the door, opened it, and gently pulled it shut. Outside, the sun was shining. She pulled the rain slicker from the satchel and put it on. There were a small pair of canvas mitts she slid on as well. Sally made her way down the path and onto the sidewalk of Bullet Park Road, towards the bus stop.

The placard at the stop read that she had to wait at least 8 minutes for the next bus, or 25 for the one afterwards. She was willing to wait 8 minutes.

The bus pulled up and she slotted the nickel into the dropper and went to sit down.

"How old are you?" The driver asked.

"Thirteen." She responded. He nodded, and she took a seat further back in the bus. They took off, headed for the train station that connects Ossining and New York proper. Her mother had mentioned that her father was working at the Pierre Hotel.

It cost 1.25$ for her to take the train downtown. She sat against the window, watching the trees fly by. No one noticed her, and she blended well with the older woman sitting beside her. It took about 50 minutes via the train to arrive at Grand Central Terminal. Luckily, Sally knew generally where she was, and that a taxi was her best step next. She made her way through the terminal, walking out onto the busy street. An old man in a bowler hat was sticking his hand out, looking down the street. Sally watched him intently. He had a grey mustache, severely overgrown eyebrows, and a friendly, plump face. A taxicab pulled up to the curb beside him.

"Excuse me." She said to him.

"Yes?" The man had an odd accent. It sounded like he said "Yay-ss"

"Where are you going?"

"Central Park." The man smiled.

"I'm going to the Pierre Hotel. Do you know where that is?"

The old man opened the cabs door.

"Yes I do. It's on the way, if you need the ride."

"I would." Sally said, unquestioningly. She pushed around him and sat on the far side of the rear seat. The old man sat beside her.

"The Pierre, followed by the south entrance of Central Park." The old man barked at the cabbie. He took off into traffic quickly.

"You're traveling alone?" The man asked.

"Almost always."

"I find it hard to believe. You're running away." He said, looking out the window.

"I guess." Sally said.

"Best of luck, my dear." The old man said.

The cabbie did not take long to pull up in front of the hotel, and the driver turned around. "That'll be 3$"

Sally handed him the money. The old man reached out before she could drop the bill into his hand and placed three dollars in his grip

"You'll need all the money you can get." He chortled.

"Thanks." Sally replied monotonously. She closed the door of the cab, walked around the back of the car and up the large stone steps leading to the hotel. A man in a green bellhop uniform opened the door for her. The interior of the hotel was ornate, yet new. It was two different ages coming clashing together. She walked up to reception.

"I'm looking for my dad, Donald Draper." Sally said.

The woman behind the desk opened a large ledger and began reading through the list of room names.

"You must be looking for Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce." The woman replied. Sally looked at her indifferently. "They're on the 4th floor. Room 465."

"Thanks." Sally smiled, walking away from the desk and through the lobby.

* * *

"Don, are you there?" Betty Draper's trembling voice demanded.

"What is it, Betts."

"It's Sally. She's… gone." Betty forced the words out.

"What do you mean, gone?" Don leaned forward quickly in his chair. He was already raising his voice.

"She walked out of the house. I don't know how long she's been gone."

"How long ago?" Don stood in a fury.

"Any time within the last hour, I should think. She stayed home from school with a fever. I told her to go back to sleep, and I just went to check on her."

"You're her mother, how are you not watching her?"

"Don't you dare make me feel like the bad person, Don. I already feel terrible enough." Betty snapped back.

"Fine." Don huffed. "Have you called the police?"

"No… I haven't." She said. "I called the school, then her friends, Glen Bishop, and Francine in case she somehow got there. She can't have gone far."

"Call the police. They will patrol the bus stations, trains. They'll find her."

"Alright." Betty said. Her voice trembled. "Don… what if…"

"There's no 'what-ifs', Betts. She's fine. She's a smart girl. Take care of Gene and Bobby."

"Alright…" She mumbled. "Alright."

"Call me with updates."

"I will. Goodbye Don. Thank you."

Don had cooled off. Worry replaced his feelings of great anger. He hung up the receiver.

There was a single wrap at the door of Room 465.

"Who're we expecting?" Roger said, looking to Joan across from himself.

"I don't know." Joan replied, her hands full of creative supplies. "Kaye, could you get the door."

Kaye silently stood from her seat, stretched and moved towards the door. She opened it to the stout figure of a young girl.

"Can I help you?" Kaye asked.

"I'm looking for Donald Draper." She said. "He's my dad."

Kaye was visibly surprised; the young girl spoke again.

"My name's Sally. Tell Joan."

Kaye turned around, looking at Joan from afar.

"Sally Draper's here."

Joan stood quickly, moving swiftly for the door.

"Your father's in his office."

She grabbed the young girl's hand and quickly dragged her to the second bedroom.

"Don?" Joan knocked at the door.

"Come in."

Joan pushed Sally into Don's office. Don leaped up from his chair, running over to hug his daughter. He was silent until he let her out of the hug.

"Don't you ever run away again. Do you hear me? Don't you ever."

"Mommy didn't want me there anymore. She said so, so I left."

Don looked up to Joan.

"Joan could you give us a minute."

"Of course." The redhead left the room, closing the door quietly.

"What do you mean?"

Sally began tearing up. Her eyes turned red and her cheeks flushed.

"Mom was talking to Henry and I heard her say she wish I was gone."

Don bit his tongue and rage covered his face. Sally was frightened and thought she was about to be hit.

"Kaye." Don shouted. The young slender girl appeared in the doorway. "This is my daughter, Sally. Sally, this is Ms. Sharpe. Kaye, could you take Sally down to the restaurant to get an ice cream?" Don pulled a 5$ bill from his pocket.

"Alright. Let's go Sally." Kaye reached out her hand instinctively. Sally hesitated a moment, looked to her hand, then back to her face, and grabbed it. Kaye lead Sally through the room to the door.

"Where're you going?" Roger asked.

"Restaurant for ice cream."

"Bring me some!" Roger kidded. Sally smiled at him as they exited. Once they were down the hall by the elevator, Sally let go of Kaye's hand.

"We don't have to pretend to be friends." She said.

"Cynical already. That's good."

Kaye and Sally stepped into the elevator.

"What does that mean?"

"Everyone's lying."

"Oh, I already knew that."

"You take too much after your father." Kaye said.

"What does that mean?" Sally said, angrily.

"You'll find out in a few years."


	6. Chapter 6 - A Night on the Town

January, 1964

"Betty." Don huffed into the receiver. "She's here."

"Oh thank God." She said. There was a brief silence. "How long ago did she arrive?"

"Ten minutes."

"Thank goodness. I can't believe she just left."

"What were you doing?" Don asked.

"W-what do you mean?"

"I mean how did she get out of your sight long enough to ride the train from Ossining?"

"I don't know, Don. I was busy. I'm sorry."

On the other end of the line, Henry Francis was asking to take the receiver from Betty. She swatted his hand away.

"I wasn't paying attention Don, it won't happen again."

"Do I need to get a sitter for the kids, Birdie?"

"No, Don." She shouted. "It was a lapse in judgement, it won't happen again. Stop making me feel poorly about it." Henry reached over, and pulled the receiver from her hand.

"Don, it was an accident. We were preparing for the morning, she was asleep in her room."

"When my daughter comes crying to me at work, saying her mother doesn't want her at home anymore, I start to wonder what's going on at home." Don said, angrily.

Henry looked over to Betty with some confusion, he reached into his memory briefly.

"Don, you know kids. They exaggerate things all the time. Betty would never say that."

"How often does Sally run away from home, Henry?"

"Never…"

"I don't want you, or Betty, discussing your personal lives in front of my children."

"I don't think you really have any say in what my wife and I discuss in front of the children." Henry snapped back.

"My children." Don said. There was a silence on the line. Betty came back on.

"Don, stop. This is useless. Henry and I will come to your office to pick her up. You're at the Pierre, right?"

He hesitated. "Room 465."

"We will be there in a bit. Tell Joan to occupy her until then, or something."

"Goodbye, Betty." Don placed the receiver back.

* * *

"You know, you're pretty cool." Sally smiled. "I wish you were my sister, rather than Bobby. Bobby smells weird. And he always touches sticky things and annoys me."

"Most brothers do." Kaye replied, licking the ice cream from her cone.

"Do you have any brothers?"

Sally and Kaye were walking back into the elevator, and ascending to the 4th floor of the Pierre.

"I had one, he was much older than me. My parents had me late in life. He died a long time ago."

"I'm sorry. I bet he was really cool." Sally smiled.

"Yes. He was." Kaye starred blankly at the wall.

"Do you have any other family?" Sally looked up to Kaye.

"One. My sister, Elena. She lives in Connecticut."

"That's not that far! Do you see her very often?"

"No. I left home a while ago."

"Oh. Okay." Sally paused. "You ran away like me."

"Not… completely." Kaye said.

The elevator door dinged and slid open. They walked into the egress and then down the corridor to Room 465. Kaye opened the door. Joan looked up briefly and then back down to her work. Kaye continued licking the ice cream and looked at Pete Campbell who's lower lip quivered. There were loud shouts coming from the bedroom down the hall.

"Who's here?" Kaye asked Joan.

"Mr. and Mrs. Francis. Sally's mother."

"What's she like?" Kaye looked away from Joan to the door. Joan turned slowly.

"Imagine the person Don would marry."

There was a momentary silence. Kaye grabbed Sally by the hand, their ice creams in the other, and they strolled to the bedroom. Kaye swung the door open and they entered, mid-stream.

"… And why would she say that?" Don snapped at Betty. She was standing in front of his desk. Henry was near the drinks cart. Gazing out the window. He was handsome, Kaye thought. In some _old experienced man_ type of way. She assumed this was why Betty had chose him.

"Don, it was an accident…"

"No, it wasn't." Sally said, definitively. Betty turned to face the voice of her daughter. Betty pursed her lips tighter, noticing Sally holding the young woman's hand. "Henry said, ' _I wish she was gone_ ' and you said _'I wish that too_ '. So voila. Your wish was my command."

"You have quite the cheek for someone who's in an incredible heap of trouble, young lady." Henry boasted.

"Betty can discipline our daughter perfectly fine, Henry."

"I'm just pointing it out." He replied, looking back into the abyss of the city. Sally let go of Kaye's hand.

"You can tell your secretary to leave, Don." Betty was staring at her daughter, unwaveringly. Kaye turned beet red.

"She's not… nevermind. Kaye." Don motioned for the door.

"I'm the Assistant Director." Kaye looked at Betty.

"What does that really matter at this point?" Betty scolded the young woman. Kaye, scoffed, turned, and shut the door. She stood momentarily in the hall, unmoving. She then bolted towards Joan.

"Did Mrs. Francis leave her bag out here?"

"Yes, it's hanging by the coat rack." Joan didn't bother looking up from her Rolodex.

"Oh good. She needs something." Kaye grabbed the bag, moved down the hall, and her ice cream beginning to melt in her left hand. She entered the Media bedroom. Harry was busy typing away.

"Can I help?" Harry asked as she closed the door. She said nothing, but placed the bag down in front of him.

"Don't say anything."

"Uh…. Okay." A perplexed look crossed his face and he continued typing.

Kaye opened up Betty's bag to find a host of items. Her billfold, cheques, lipstick, a silver cigarette case, two gold lighters, some papers, and her licenses. She opened the billfold, and pulled out all the cash. $240 in total. She kept $200 of the sum and replaced the remaining $40.

"Harry, pass me that bottle of whiskey, please."

He reached over to the drinks cart, handing Kaye the large glass bottle. She uncorked the neck, and drank too full swigs of whiskey. She then dumped large dollops of whiskey into Betty's bag. Some hit the paperwork, some her cash, and much of it soiled her cheques. Harry's eyes widened as the madness unfolded in front of him.

"What in God's name are you doing?"

"Teaching someone a lesson." She corked the whiskey once again, handing it back to him. He took it, staring blankly at her.

"Some people learn really quickly with me." She smiled. "Some take time."

After exiting the media room, placing the bag back beside the rack, she went and sat down in her cubicle, tilting the chair. She reached into her clutch and pulled out her flask, downing the entire canister.

"I don't know who to believe, Betts." Don said, reclining in his chair. Kaye had just closed the door while leaving.

"You think I would tell our daughter that I didn't want her?"

"I heard you say it. I heard you talking to Henry. You said you wished I was gone, and Henry said it too." Sally stammered in anger.

"I didn't say that." She said to Don, and then repeated it to Sally. "You must have misheard."

"No, you were both speaking really quietly. You were telling secrets. Breathing loudly. You were talking about me so I couldn't hear."

Betty's face flushed bright red. Henry looked quickly to Don who had now stood up.

"While your child is asleep, Birdie? Really?" Don's voice was calm but a bead of sweat appeared on his temple. His face was red.

"What?" Sally questioned. The silence in the room was deafening.

"Sally, go outside and see Joan for a minute."

"But Dad…"

"Just go, sweetie."

The young girl marched with her head down out the door, and sulked over to Joan's small desk down the hall.

"Don, that was totally uncalled for." Henry spoke up.

"Get out." Don said, pointing to the door.

Henry stood still, his expression perplexed.

"My daughter's sick, you lose her because you're too busy groping each other in my house that I'm paying for, and you have the nerve to speak?"

Henry stood silently. He said nothing, and then walked towards the door.

"I'll see you outside." He murmured to Betty. She nodded to him.

Don walked around the desk, standing in front of Betty. He looked down into her deep blue doe eyes. She was lost and confused, as she had always been.

"Don't ever let this happen again."

She looked down at Don's shoes, frightened in retreat.

"I won't." She muttered.

"And get out of Bullet Park Road. I'm going to sell the house. I'll have the cheque sent once it's sold."

"We don't want anything." Betty looked up to him. "Henry and I have enough to get by without it. We don't need the money."

"All the better." Don moved once step closer to her, their bodies nearly touching. Betty froze, saying nothing. Don broke quickly, moving around her and then slightly opened the door to his office.

"Do you hate me?" Betty asked, turning to face him.

"No." Don said, placidly.

Betty stared into Don's empty eyes. She tilted her head slightly, and then walked out of the open door.

Betty took the bag from the rack, smiling to Joan and taking her daughter's hand. Sally was looking over at Kaye, who was tilting back in her chair, staring at the ceiling silently.

"Come on." Betty prompted Sally to continue moving. She moved along and eventually was swept out of the door with both Henry and Betty. Kaye sat for a long moment in silence.

"Peggy, what are you doing tonight?"

Peggy didn't have time to respond before Kaye replied.

"Nothing. Good. We're no closer to having everything done than we did yesterday. Tonight, we're going out."

"Where?" Peggy said.

"Anywhere. Where's a good place in this town?"

"There's Mulburys." Roger replied from behind his cubicle wall. He stood up, tipping around the corner to see them. "Jane was there the other night. Says it's quite the place."

"How far is it?" Kaye asked.

"Worth the drive I'm sure. Am I driving?"

"You're coming too?" Peggy asked.

"And so is Joan." Roger said. "And Don. And Pete. And Lane. In fact, we all need a night out." Roger smiled.

"I'm very busy, Roger." Joan replied.

"Work mandated outing." Roger said. "Tell Don. And Lane. He'll be out for the afternoon I think. We'll leave at 5:00."

* * *

The car ride home was silent, mostly. Sally was in the back seat of Henry's car. She was staring out the window, watching the trees go by. Her thoughts drifted in and out of the afternoon's adventure. She thought of Kaye, and how interesting she was. She smiled, thinking of the ice cream she ate, and then frowned wondering about what punishment awaited her once she got home.

Betty was fuming. The embarrassment was enough to choking her, but the insult of Don's rebuke in front of Henry was layered on top.

"How dare you, Sally Draper." Betty began from the blue. Henry looked over to her. She stared straight forward. "You made a mockery of me, and your father-in-law."

"I didn't mean to." She replied contritely.

"Well you did anyway." She paused. "I don't know what was going through your head."

"You wished I wasn't there, so I granted your wish."

"I did not say that." Betty stammered.

"Yes, you did." Sally asserted. "I heard you whispering downstairs."

"Listening in on our personal conversations is worse, Sally."

A long silence ensued.

"Don't talk so loud when you whisper." Sally interjected.

Betty blurted, "Sally Draper. You are grounded. You aren't leaving the house unless it's for school. You aren't going out with friends, you're not even going to the library."

"Mom!" Sally shouted. "I was just pointing out facts."

"One day, you'll learn when to point out facts and when to keep them to yourself." Betty huffed. Sally moved from the backseat between the two front seats.

"Henry, you have to see how ridiculous this is." Sally scoffed.

"Sally, listen to your mother. She's right." Henry stared at the road ahead.

Sally immediately lashed out, jumping into the front seat. She stared at her mother with an intense look of distaste. Henry thought she was about to attack Betty. He reached over and grabbed Sally's coat back, drawing her towards himself. Sally swung her arms around in fear. She hit Henry's hand, knocking him off of the steering wheel. Henry dropped Sally, and tried to grab the wheel once again. The car had swerved into the oncoming lane, narrowly missing a large truck. The horn blast scared Sally and she screamed. Henry swung the car back into the other lane but he over-corrected and the front wheel skidded on ice over the yellow line.

The car hit the edge of the road and flipped once, twice, three times into the ditch. Sally, Betty and Henry were all thrown from their seats with no control. Time had slowed down for Sally as she saw her mother and father-in-law reaching for the seat backs as they flew through the interior. Sally's back hit the roof with a thud, and then she was thrown violently into the floor, cracking her jaw against the seat on her way down.

The car came to rest at the edge of a field, parked through an old wooden fence. It was on it roof, much steam rising from the engine compartment. Sally shook her head in a daze. Her back hurt egregiously, her jaw too. She felt her face and noticed quickly that her hand was covered in hot thick blood. Her heart pounded in her ears and she could hear a high pitched ringing.

"Mom." She said quietly at first, and then repeated it loudly. Betty's body was laying beside her, her face badly bleeding and bruises forming on her neck and face. Henry was not inside the car. "Mom." She repeated, shaking the limp woman beside her. A wave of unabashed terror washed over Sally as the realization of the events came to her.

Betty shook her head lightly, looking at her daughter.

"Where's… Henry…" She managed lightly.

"I don't know… I don't know." Sally repeated. She looked outside the car and could not see anyone. Suddenly thumping footsteps rang out around the car.

"Hello!" the croaky voice was that of an old man. "Is everyone okay in there?"

Sally pulled herself over towards the window which had bent and the glass exploded, due to the pressure. She peered out to see a tall man, in his mid-60s, leaning down to see inside the car. He caught sight of Sally and gasped loudly.

"Oh, Lord." He managed. "Are you alright dear?"

"No." She said, her jaw sitting loosely away from her face.

"I think your face is broken. Don't talk." The man sputtered. All the blood had drained from his face and he was white as a linen sheet. "Where is your mother? Point."

Sally pointed inside the car.

"Can you climb out of the car? My cars sitting on the shoulder, go lay down in the back seat. I'll pull your mother from the car. Is your father in there too?"

Sally shook her head.

"Oh, Lordy." He leaned down, trying to pull the rear door open. The metal had crushed itself together, and he was unable to pry it away. "I think I saw him a little ways back."

The older man helped Sally from the wreck, and pointed her towards his Plymouth sedan. Sally trudged through the snow, holding her chest which was now covered in blood, and grasping her arm which was weak. She looked down the ditch as she reached the old mans car. She could see a man, lying lifeless in the ditch near the shoulder. She stood for a moment, watching, waiting.

* * *

 **Mulbury's Bar, NYC**

The staff of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce had left the quaint offices at the Pierre to lavish good luck upon themselves early in the evening. Don, Roger and Lane drove the ladies; Peggy with Don, Joan with Roger, and Kaye with Lane. Lane was being showy with his new Jaguar E-Type, roaring through Manhattan. The big six engine screamed into fifty five hundred RPM and Lane downshifted, smiling to himself. Kaye had her mirror out from her clutch and she could hardly finish her lipstick the way Lane was driving.

Once they had arrived at Mulbury's, Roger opened a bottomless tab and doled out the alcohol liberally. There were quite a few other patron's who benefited from loose lips and a coy smile or two towards the gentlemen. Even Peggy had lightened up enough to enjoy herself, and was chatting loudly with some liberal hippy near the end of the bar. Kaye was sitting beside Don on one side, and Joan on the other. She was three gin and tonics deep when she looked over to Joan, whose demeanor had gone from pleasant and joyful to cold and distant.

"What's wrong?" Kaye leaned over to Joan. Roger and Don were distracted by Pete and a young blonde who were chatting at the edge of the table.

"It's nothing." Joan said, sipping her drink.

"It's not nothing." Kaye finished her fourth gin tonic.

Joan sat in silence for a long moment.

"My husband is here."

"Where?" Kaye said with anticipation.

"Well don't look straight at him. Then he'll know we're talking about him." Joan looked around. "He's at the end of the room near the jukebox."

Standing off beside a small group of gentlemen was Greg Harris. His hair; neatly quaffed, his face; clean shaven. Some of his hospital cronies were laughing and drinking beers. He too was holding a glass.

"Oh he's handsome." Kaye said, her eyes wandering around.

"Don't let the looks fool you." Joan said, raising her glass slowly.

Greg had obviously noticed them. He was looking Kaye up and down, and then staring at Joan. He noticed Roger, Pete and Don were at or near the table. A work outing, he surmised. He had much to drink by this point, enough to thicken the cloud of reality to the point where he was not encumbered by a filter.

"There's a rage inside that man." Joan said, quietly enough to fly under Don's radar, who sat near Kaye. "I think I should go."

"You're leaving now? So soon?" Lane asked. His voice was slightly slurred, but his manicured English accent was still present. He had overheard their conversation and was looming over Joan, standing just outside the table edges.

"Yes, I can see it's time to go." Joan stood up, brushing Lane over. She looked to Greg, and then cycled back to Kaye. There was a moment of great hesitation. "Goodbye."

Don, Roger and Pete were so enraptured with the blonde they failed to notice Joan leaving.

Kaye had left her Nash at her apartment and was banking on Roger or Lane giving her a ride. She thought of the cold nights spent in the back of her father's saloon car. She was glad things were changing. Even if the guise was thinly veiled.

Suddenly Greg broke off from his cronies. He put the large beer mug down on the bar, along with a few dollars change. He headed directly for the door. It swung open quickly and came back with a thud. Kaye stood, following Greg out the door. The streets were dark now, dimly lit by passing cars and street lamps. She glanced up and down the packed street, seeing Joan a great leap away and Greg in close pursuit. Kaye began running. Her feet were off balance from the alcohol but the cold wasn't biting her as poorly as it should have. Within a few steps, Greg had caught up to Joan.

He put his arms underneath hers, and jerked her towards himself. Joan looked up quickly, her eyes darting around. Kaye could see Greg leaning over and whispering something in her ear. Joan slowed her walk and allowed her arm to rest in Greg's. They looked peaceful for a moment.

Kaye rushed across the intersection and was catching up to them now that Greg and Joan were walking very slowly. Greg ushered Joan towards his Chevy sedan.

"Having a night out with the girls and boys, huh?" Greg asked.

"None of your business."

"I was too. I could see you cozied up there next to old Don and Roger. The hounds are still together, are they?"

Joan said nothing but walked in step with Greg as they approached the door to his car.

"We have some things to deal with. Get in."

Joan hesitated.

"Get in." Greg stared at her. Joan grabbed the door handle slowly, looking at him. He ducked inside the car, and rolled the engine over. The car grumbled as it started, misfiring a few times. Joan pulled the door open and sunk into the bench seat beside him.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"The apartment."

She said nothing. Kaye was now upon them, standing just out of clear view. Joan looked out the window and noticed her. They locked eyes for a long moment; neither said a word or made a movement. Greg pulled away from the curb, and Kaye slipped out of view.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you." Greg said after a few minutes of driving in silence. "You don't answer the phone at home"

"I've been busy Greg."

"Really? Sales at Bonwit are going crazy?

"I no longer work there." Joan said.

"Oh."

"Shows how much you've been paying attention."

There was a long ensuing silence as they drove towards their apartment. They rolled up outside not long after, and Greg shut out the engine. He opened the door and walked around to Joan's door, opening it for her. She sat for a moment, and then exited. Greg ushered her with a gesture to enter the building.

"I don't know why we had to do this now." Joan questioned.

"You were leaving anyway, why do you care?" Greg slurred some of his words and alcohol reeked from his mouth and clothing.

"Because, I would prefer to deal with this later."

"Just get inside." He swung the door open and waltzed in behind her. "So you cheatin' on me?"

Joan turned slowly.

"What?"

"I said, are you cheating on me? You seem awfully cozy with dear old Don Draper there."

"I'm not his type." She said.

"Not pretty enough?"

"Not young enough."

Joan had placed her purse on the table, and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

"Nonsense. I see the way everyone looks at you." A brazen smile crossed his face. "All the men get just so hot and bothered by my Joannie." He moved towards the kitchen and began massaging her shoulder and rubbing up and down her arms.

"Not now, Greg. Not while you're drunk. Cool off." Joan drank the rest of the glass, refilled it, and avoided another embrace by moving towards the living room.

"Aw come on Joannie. We've both had a good night, you looked like it. I had some beers with the boys, we both deserve a little compensation for our night, don't you think."

"Greg, I said cool off." Joan sat down on the sofa, kicking off her heels.

"Well, what if I don't want to cool off. What if I want to heat up?" He sat down beside her, running his hand up and down her leg.

"I'm not going to say it again." She took another sip.

Greg rushed his hands up Joan's dress and made a jump towards her womanhood. She immediately took the glass of water and splashed it into his face. He jerked back in a moment of rage and grabbed her arm holding the glass.

"You like playing stupid games huh?" Greg forced himself on top of her. He grabbed her other arm. "You want to play games like this, huh?" He began shouting.

"Get off of me. Now!" Joan yelled. She began kicking but Greg's legs were much stronger than hers, and he was using them to pin her into the sofa. She began jerking her arms around, attempting to get free. Greg leaned in trying to kiss her vigorously but Joan tilted her head, avoiding his mouth. "Greg, let go, you idiot."

He had relented enough on one of her arms that she took the glass and slammed it into Greg's head. In a daze he recoiled back, clutching the spot where the tumbler had contacted his head and he yelped. The glass fell to the ground near Joan.

"Alright. Now you're gonna get it."

Greg slapped Joan across the cheek quickly, and dragged her body off of the sofa. She screamed briefly as her body hit the rug, and then Greg flipped her over onto her stomach.

"This is what you like, isn't it?" He said. "Always being the damsel in distress?"

"Please stop." She whimpered.

"This is what all the guys at work like, isn't it?" his voice raised again.

Greg tore open the back of her dress, revealing her undershirt, bra and underwear. He began ripping through each of them following.

"Greg, stop it." She said, clutching her cheek.

He continued. Joan yelled for help a few times, but her screams were instantly muffled by Greg grabbing a pillow and shoving her face into it. She screamed even more with no use.

But suddenly, it ended. As fast as it had begun.

A loud snap cracked through the dry air of the Harris' apartment. Greg's carnal rage withdrew, and he slumped on top of Joan. He had loosened his grip on the pillow, and collapsed.

Joan threw the pillow from her face and gasped loudly. She drew in air looking around, and finally stared down at her husband. He was laying motionless, and blood covered his back.

"Oh God…" Joan said, looking around.

Kaye was standing near the doorway. An old Colt hammerless pistol was in her hand.


	7. Chapter 7 - Pan American World Airways

Thursday, January 23, 1964

Peggy Olson was sitting down at her cubicle desk tapping away on her typewriter. It was 5:00 am, and none of the staff had arrived yet. She had gone home early despite having a good time the previous evening and couldn't sleep. Thoughts of Pan Am loomed in her head.

She had finished writing up the general information on the pitch itself, and for the first time was confident in the read-out. It flowed well, and seemed to speak exactly what Pan Am was about: the world and its oyster. She had the same feeling before the Belle Jolie pitch; nervousness but a great excitement. She could taste victory on her lips.

She turned around after spooling out the paper from the typewriter and slipped it into a file. Looking down, she could see Kaye had piled up old mail tightly into her wastebasket just outside the edge of her desk. Peggy stared at it for a long moment, and then reached into the basket and pulled some of it out. Mixed in with the throwaways was a single letter from "Elena". It was unopened. Peggy ran her finger under the seal and pulled out the letter. It was handwritten, a single page, single-sided. She began reading,

"Dear Sister,

I know you are in New York now, and you have made it well. I hope you have been taking care of yourself, and staying out of trouble. Our conversation last month made me happy to hear this. Hugh and I are driving through the city at the beginning of May. We're going on a road trip of sorts. We want to meet you. Please let us know where you are working? We will stop by. It will not take long.

Love,

Elena."

Peggy placed the letter back into its envelope, and threw it into the trash. She sat a minute in silence. _What sister doesn't want to see her own family?_ _What was she hiding? What is she hiding from?_ She smiled at the plans arising in her mind. Maybe Elena deserved to meet her sister after some time. Peggy was just being the good messenger. Pulling out a piece of paper and a pen, she began writing a letter.

* * *

3 Hours Earlier

Driving exactly 60 miles an hour along Highway 22 late in the night was a silver 1960 two door Dodge Polara. It had the white wall tires, the brushed wire chromed wheels, and all the bells and whistles. It was alone on the road, driving steadily northbound and had just passed through White Plains. At the helm was a fair ginger-haired girl with glasses, and next to her, an older and more conventionally beautiful redhead. There was silence off and on between them.

"What happens when we get there?" Joan asked.

"We finish what we started." Kaye said, reaching into her coat pocket for a cigarette. She patted around her pockets until she found a lighter, and she lit the end quickly.

"What about this car?"

"I'll park it right where I got it. The owner won't even know it was gone."

Joan burst into tears once again. She had fits of crying and rage in different stints throughout the night. She spoke infrequently; Kaye appreciated this. Joan pulled a handkerchief from her clutch and began wiping her eyes.

"What am I going to do?" She sobbed. "I hated him Kaye. But I didn't want him to end up like that."

Kaye said nothing. She continued smoking while looking distantly at the road signs. They were hard to read in the pitch-black gloom. As they strayed further and further from the metropolis, the road became thinner, and packed heavily with snow. They were leaving the Central Westcherster Parkway and turning onto Mount Kisco Drive along the Kensico Reservoir.

"Oh god. Greg." Joan continued sobbing. "What are we gonna do." She whispered.

Kaye reached over, and placed a cigarette between her lips. Joan looked over; the stick hanging loosely from her mouth. Kaye lit the end for her and slid the lighter into her pocket.

"In life, we often have to do things that are just not out bag." Kaye said.

"How cavalier of you." Joan said, between tears. She inhaled deeply and stared out the passenger window at the trees flying by. They were nothing more than dark masses in the night, clumped together, looming over them.

Mount Kisco turned into King Street, and King Street into Whippoorwill Road.

"We're getting close now." Kaye said.

"To where?" Joan asked.

"A lake far enough from town."

She slowed the car, taking the turns up the impossibly winding roads. Eventually she turned off down a very narrow path. The snow was pressed down from occasional use but was nearly up to the fenders in some places. Eventually they came to the end of a small keyhole that lead down to Calder Lake. Kaye shut off the engine, and turned out the lights. Only the light of the moon illuminated the ground around them.

"Wait here." Kaye butted her cigarette into the ashtray, and opened the door. She stepped out into two feet of snow. Luckily, she'd worn a heavy coat and leather boots. She made her way to the back of the car, and popped the hood. There, curled up motionless, was Greg Harris. His gaze was clouded over, and hands frozen in time. Behind him in the trunk was a wooden sled Kaye had pulled from Joan's apartment. She dropped it onto the unpacked snow, along with a box of lye she found in Joan's broom closet. Reaching underneath his arms, Kaye pulled Greg's body from the trunk of the car. He was extremely heavy, and it required her to cantilever her body against the bumper. He slumped onto the sled with a thud. Kaye closed the trunk, grabbed the box of lye, and began pulling the sled down the slight hill towards Calder Lake. The snow became deeper and deeper on the approach and she was struggling to take more than a few steps at a time.

"What the hell." She said. The night was so tranquil her voice was deafeningly loud. Pulling her silver flask from her pocket, she downed the rest of the bourbon she'd stolen from Roger's cart.

A few minutes passed and she finally reached the edge of the lake. There were a few places along the shoreline where the ice was no more than two inches thick.

"Why couldn't this happen in July." She smirked. The smile left her face as quickly as it appeared. Walking along the bank with her box of lye, she found a sunken spot of shoreline. It was covered in 5 feet of snow. She unearthed much of the snow, and beneath the snow was cold swampy marsh. Heaving Greg's body from the sled, she dumped him into the marsh. It wasn't more than 8 inches deep. Kaye ripped open a hole in the edge of the box and poured all of the lye onto his body and in the murky shallow waters around him. After tapping the lasts of the lye out, she stood silently in the night. She used the sled to dump the snow back over him.

Joan was watching from a distance. She had dry heaved multiple times at the thought of her dead husband, and sobbed quietly in the car. Kaye had done all of the work. She saw her make her way around the edge of the lake, and now she could see Kaye was moving back towards the car with an empty sled and an empty box in her hand. The car started with a rumble and they pulled out backwards onto the path, drove around the keyhole, heading back up towards Whippoorwill Road.

* * *

Don Draper burst through the doors of Mount Sinai Hospital and sped over to the front desk clerk.

"I'm looking for my daughter, ex-wife and her husband. They were just transferred an hour ago."

Dawn was peeking its head over the horizon out the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the waiting room. The cold night was giving way to a cool morning. The emergency room was already piling up with people; some who'd just walked in, others who'd been there all night.

"Names?" The clerk said.

"Sally Draper." He paused. "Bett-Elizabeth and Henry Francis."

The clerk began flipping through paperwork and spinning over page by page. Don watched the elderly woman spend his time away.

"Which room?" He spat.

"Henry Francis is in post-surgery. He's sedated. Elizabeth is in the room across from him, 3rd floor, room 3301 and Sally is in room 3302."

Don spun and took off towards the staircase further down the hall, passed the clerks desk. He skipped steps repeatedly as he ascended the floors of the hospital. Cutting through a small staff lounge, he found 3301 and 3302 side-by-side.

He peered into Sally's room. She was asleep but the light was on. Her entire face had blotchy bruises covering it. She had cuts on some parts of her arms which were bandaged, and she had a huge bandage wrapped around her head, holding her jaw in place. There were a few stitches here and there on her forehead and some hair had to be cut away to suture some of her scalp.

Don breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw his daughter; not because of her state, but because she was breathing slowly, and peacefully asleep.

"She fell asleep about 2 hours ago. Was asking for you." A large coloured woman stood behind him in her nurse's outfit. Her voice was hoarse like gravel, but she had that kind way about her smile, which eased Don.

"What happened?" He turned to face the nurse.

"Haven't got much out of them. Car crashed off the road. Somewhere between Baychester and New Rochelle. Guy was pretty banged up; broken femur, broken tib, broken arm, dislocated shoulder, cracked skull; Wife's not looking good either. Sally here has a broken jaw, fractured wrist, but other than the bruises and cuts, I'm surprised the damage isn't worse."

Don said nothing but surveyed his daughter for a quiet moment. He moved around the nurse and made his way into Betty's room. She was also asleep, facing the window. Don walked in slowly as not to startle her.

"She's sedated." The nurse appeared in the doorway. Don made his way around the bed until he could see Betty clearly. She had an ice pack strapped around her face; bandages everywhere. Two black eyes, bruises in many places and a long strip of her hair had been razed to suture a massive cut down the length of her scalp. She had more stitches sewing up a gape in her face, extending from just above her right eye, to across her nose. Her hands were beaten badly and bruised.

"She was screaming in agony and passed out a few times." The nurse began. "Other than what you see, she has a huge cut on her thigh, lucky the old man who brought them in tourniqueted it or she would have bled out on the way. Both arms are broken. The cuts are mostly from the windshield glass. Small surgery to remove a large chunk of glass from her face. They'll call her Scarface for the rest of her life unfortunately."

Again, Don was silent but simply observed his ex-wife. The horror of seeing her in such a state was masked by the adrenaline of the events of the day. He slowly reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette.

"She's on oxygen." The nurse quipped. "No smoking. Unless you wanna end up looking like them."

Don slid his cigarette case back into his pocket.

"I'm working 'till 8:00. If you need anything see the unit clerk, they'll get me."

He looked down at his watch. 7:11a.m. The nurse had already left the doorway. For what seemed like an eternity, he sat down at the edge of Betty's bed. He stared at her for a while, and then looked out the window, down to his watch, and back to his ex-wife.

She cracked open her eyes at first. Her breathing became briefly laboured and she sighed. She was staring at the ceiling, and then her gaze drifted to Don at the end of her bed. She attempted to smile but the pain overcame her and she winced.

"Don." She managed to whisper.

"Betts." He replied with an ever-so-slight smile.

She sighed quietly again and then whispered, "Where's Sally?"

"Next door. She's okay. Much better than you. She's asleep."

"Thank God." She winced again. "I don't remember… what's happened."

"Car crash. You went off the road."

"I don't – I don't remember… My minds upside down." She tried to sit up straighter in bed, but hardly moved.

"Betts, you need rest." Don moved closer.

"Where's Henry?"

"Across the hall. Not well, just out of surgery."

Betty looked up to the ceiling and large teardrops began forming in her sunken eyes.

"I don't know what I did – but I know it's my fault."

"You don't know that." Don said.

"I do. I said something. Or did something. That caused the crash."

"Don't think about that right now." He moved and grabbed her bruised hand gently, holding it in his. Betty looked up, wincing. Don could feel her muscles contract as she tried with difficulty to hold his hand.

"Thank you, Don." She whispered. She sat in silence. "I'm sorry. About yesterday. I remember leaving your office. Nothing after that."

"Birdie." He placed his hand gently on her head, running his hand through her hair. They said nothing for a minute.

"You're at the lake with your parents. The smell of fresh air fills your nostrils. It's damp but not cool. It's evening time. Your father is by the fire, roasting hot dogs. Sally and Bobby are on the lawn playing darts. Gene is in your mothers arms. Sally yells at Bobby because he's almost hit her with a dart."

Betty smiled, her eyes closed.

"Your mother is chatting with you. I'm standing back from the fire, a beer in my hand. A loon hoots in the distance. The water is perfectly still because there's no wind. You're at peace, Betts."

With that, Betty turned her head, and fell asleep.

* * *

"Where's Don?" Roger said to Pete Campbell who had just walked in the door from a successful meeting.

"I don't know. Haven't seen him." Pete began smiling. "Smith-Corona is going to hear us out, They've invited us to their offices."

"What's the potential billings?" Roger said, sipping a glass of whiskey.

"Maybe a million on a good year." Lane piped up from the background. He was smoking a pipe and looking out the window.

"That's a good million regardless." Pete said. "Get Creative on that."

"Their under the gun for the Pan Am pitch. Our friend Mr. Trippe moved the meeting up." Roger replied.

"And what if that doesn't go well? We can't sacrifice all our work for one fish we don't even know if we've caught."

"This is no fish, Mr. Campbell." Lane turned to face the young account man. "This is a blue whale. This whale will dwarf all of your accounts combined and then some of Lucky Strike."

"And? Are we going to sacrifice other potential clients who will sustain us?"

"Not-tat-all." Lane snapped back. "They're all essential at this time. We just cannot afford the manpower to take our foot off of the accelerator for Pan Am."

Pete scoffed, spun and walked into Harry Crane's office.

"He'll learn." Roger smirked.

At that time, the front door to Room 465 swung open and Joan marched through the egress, unfurling her coat and placing it on the rack.

"Never been late a day for work a day in your life and here we are." Roger said.

Joan smiled briefly, without saying anything, and moved to sit down at her desk. Roger followed her, leaning on the edge of the short cubicle wall.

"What's going on? My wit on ice this morning?"

"Busy night." She mumbled. There was a stack of paper on her desk, including newly handwritten notes. One was about a call from Pan Am. Joan turned to Roger who was still standing at the edge of the cubicle.

"When did this call come in?"

"I don't know I saw it on the desk this morning."

"So they've moved our meeting to tomorrow. That loses us a week." Joan said.

"Peggy, come here." Roger said.

Peggy Olson stood from her desk and came over to Joan's kingdom.

"When did this call come in?" Joan asked.

"6:00 this morning."

"You were here at six? We're not paying overtime." Roger said.

"Couldn't sleep. They said they had no choice because of Mr. Trippe's schedule. He leaves for Barbados. Or was it Bahamas. I don't remember. Some hot place that starts with a B."

"Does Don know?" Joan responded.

"Haven't seen him since last night."

"I'll call his apartment. Hopefully some maid answers and I can get to him."

"Where's Kaye?" Peggy said.

"She's not here already?"

"No."

Joan looked down to her typewriter.

"She should be in soon. If she isn't, I'll call her apartment."

"Tell Harry to focus only on Pan Am for the rest of today. We'll all be here until tomorrow I bet." Roger said, walking away towards his desk.

Joan spent the rest of the morning catching up on the notes, which littered her desk from the previous day, and the morning while Peggy manned the phone line. Pete also had secured an interview with Liggett Myers Tobacco, something easy that would improve their despaired lack of overhead. If something didn't change in a few months time, the staff of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce would be walking out the door without a paycheque. After finishing a memo and unscrolling the paper from the typewriter, she picked up the phone and called out to Kaye's apartment she'd bought at Gramercy Park East. It rang a few times before there was an answer.

"Hello?" a groggy and slowed voice picked up the receiver.

"Kaye, what are you doing?"

"I was sleeping. What else would I be doing."

"It's 10 o'clock. Are you coming in?" Joan had trouble masking her emotions.

"No—I wasn't—planning on it." She slurred.

"Are you drunk?" Joan lowered her voice.

"I just took a little something to help me sleep. Why do you care?"

Joan hesitated and thought herself about drinking. She yearned for a release from the headache that was pounding in her mind. Her brain wouldn't stop swirling with images of Greg; his lifeless body being dragged down to the frozen lake. His empty gaze. The ride back had been even more devoid of conversation than the ride there. She was dropped off out front, left staring at Greg's old Chevy parked westbound.

"Hello?" Kaye repeated.

"Kaye, you need to come in. Mr. Trippe at Pan Am called. The pitch is tomorrow. He's leaving Sunday on vacation."

"Oh god no." the young girl on the other end of the line whined. "Why, Juan." … "Where's Don?" She asked from the blue.

"He hasn't called. I was going to call him after I called you."

"I assume Ms. Stick-up-her-ass is there."

"Peggy is here, yes." Joan replied.

"I'll be in soon. Send a cab to come get me. I forget where I parked my car."

"Fine." Joan hung up the receiver. In the middle of her call to the Yellow Cabs company, She received another call.

"Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, how may I direct your call?" Joan started.

"It's me, I'm sorry I'm not in already."

"Where are you?"

"Betty and Sally got into an accident. It's bad. They're at Mount Sinai, I got to the hospital just before 7:00. I need you to arrange a sitter for Bobby and Gene. Not too expensive. They can watch them at my apartment."

"Oh god, Don, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. They're okay. I'll probably be here for a while."

"Pan Am called." Joan started. "The pitch is tomorrow… they're scrambling here."

Silence ensued on the other end of the line.

"I'll be in a little later." Don hung up the phone.

* * *

Outside of 34 Gramercy Park East, a checkered yellow cab was honking violently, and the driver was leaning his head out the window. He was inspecting the windows on the face of the building, looking for looming eyes; scared that they were about to miss their car. He scoffed, and then leaned back into his car. Turning to the front doors, he saw a young woman, in her early twenties, walking out the doors. Her movements were slowed. She seemed to be drunk, or hurt. Or both.

Kaye opened the rear door and flung her bag into the back seat. She slumped down into the rear of the car, pulling the door closed with an outstretched arm.

"You know I've been out here for 10 minutes?" The cabbie barked.

"The Pierre." Kaye said. The car pulled away from the curb.

"Yeah I know where we're going. Your boss called me over. It's a wonder you still have a job if you show up to work like this."

"And yet, you're the one driving _me_ to work." She said, laughing quietly.

The cabbie glared angrily in his rear view mirror. Kaye pulled out a cigarette and began smoking as they glided through Manhattan traffic. The day was another bitter day. She rubbed her forehead with her thumb. She thought about Greg as she inhaled on the white stick. "god" she huffed.

"We're here."

She looked up and the drive seemed to have passed by in only a minute.

"That'll be a dollar, but another 50 cents because I had to wait."

Kaye pulled a five dollar bill from her clutch and handed it to the man.

"Keep the change." She said. The cabbie smiled momentarily.

"Uh, thank you, Miss."

"Don't judge a book by its cover." She slipped out of the rear seat, shutting the door behind her. Snow was falling lightly on the sidewalk and the sky was a vast expanse of grey. Kaye looked down to her father's old watch. It was just past noon.

"Where have you been? Hasn't anyone told you about Pan Am?"

"That's why I'm here." Kaye pushed passed Peggy as she strolled into the makeshift office and threw her things down onto her desk.

"Have you finished the printing?"

"Done yesterday." She said, sitting down in her chair.

"Okay, then what do we need to do?"

"Wait for Don." Kaye said, leaning back.

"Speak of the devil." Roger Sterling said, holding up a tumbler of Rye and pointing towards the hotel room door where Donald Draper had just passed through.

"Peggy, Kaye, my office. Pete, sit in with us." Don ordered as he removed the fedora from his head and walked into his office. Kaye and Peggy sat in the opposing orange chairs. Pete stood, leaning against the back wall.

"We weren't expecting this timetable." Don started. "Are we ready?"

"Prints are done. They're in Harry's office." Kaye said.

"Good. Peggy, you have all the type complete?"

"It's all with the storyboard." She replied.

"Pete what are we dealing with. You met with their accounts team last week."

"I mean, there's not much to say." Pete said. "It's Pan Am. They have an entire floor dedicated to maintaining their PR. I sat down with Gordon Stanley, their head of Public Relations, and we discussed almost nothing because he refused to share much at all. It's like they want us to fail."

"They do." Kaye said. Don's gaze shifted to Kaye. "They want some big firm like BBDO, or Leo Burnett, or Cutler Gleason and Chaough to take over so they have some piece of mind. They're just appeasing Juan allowing us to pitch."

Silence.

"Then I guess we have to show them we're worth their time." Peggy said.

"Alright." Don said. "Keep moving on other projects until tomorrow. No going out late. Kaye stay behind, I want to talk with you."

Peggy and Pete cleared out of the room while Kaye remained seated.

"I need you at your best tomorrow." Don sat down in his chair, offering Kaye a cigarette, which she took. He placed one between his own lips and lit up both of their sticks.

"The ideas good." Kaye said. "It will stick."

"Depends on their audience." Don said.

"Where were you?" Kaye asked.

Don hesitated a moment before responding. "I was seeing my daughter. I heard you came in late."

"I was seeing my bed." She smirked.

Don returned the smile but said nothing.

"Joan and I were up very late on business." Kaye said, inhaling on her cigarette. "I thought I might come in late." Her eyes glazed over staring out the window behind Don.

"That's fine." Don said. "I'm glad you two are getting along."

"Not much choice." Kaye muttered.

"Wear something tomorrow that will take their eyes off the storyboard and to some beach between palm trees." He said.

"I don't know if I have anything like that."

"Then pickup something like that. Charge it back to Roger." He smiled. "Take Joan with you. She's the one I'd trust with this."

Kaye said smiled politely and stood, leaving the office. She walked over to Joan's corner cubicle.

"We're going shopping." She started.

Joan looked up from typing, pulling her reading glasses down.

"For what?"

"I need a dress. Something to drop jaws."

"Then we're going to Bonwit's, I know the manager." she said. "They'll having something for you."

* * *

Friday, January 24th, 1964

The Pan Am Building

200 Park Avenue, New York, NY

58th Floor

The reception area for Pan American Headquarters was much more simplistic than Don had expected. Everything had sharp edges to it, nothing was out of place, and nothing was excessive. There were a few chairs against the wall under the windows, and then a coffee table with two ashtrays and a few magazines on the shelf underneath. Pete was practising his greeting and handshake. He didn't want his voice trembling.

Don had picked up Kaye from her apartment at Gramercy Park East at 9:00 in the morning. There was a low slung fog over the skyline that day. The rest of the Sterling Cooper gang trickled into the lobby of 200 Park Avenue shortly after 9:15.

"Are we ready?" Roger turned to Don as they sat together on the chairs in reception.

"Always." Don replied. Roger looked past Don to Kaye, who was sitting in the chair next to him, applying another layer of smacking red lipstick. She was wearing a bright red dress. It wasn't racy, or over the top by any standards, but it accentuated every line of her body. Nor was it low cut, but instead hung off her shoulders around her collarbone. It was something that you would wear to a work formal party, but not as a guest at a wedding.

"You look better than Ginger Rogers." Roger said.

"You too." Kaye smiled.

"Maybe, but I have better hair." Roger said, leaning back in his chair.

"They're ready for you." The receptionist stood from her seat at the desk and motioned for the team to come towards her. They all stood in one motion and began moving towards the door. Kaye's palms were clammy and she had the jitters. She'd only drank two glasses of whiskey that morning and it was wearing off. Was she withdrawing? Or was she actually afraid.

The Sterling Cooper team moved through the large steel doors and through the halls of Pan Am. There were employees littered all over the place in one big room. They were all on the phone simultaneously. The receptionist led them to the end of the hall where another single large steel door rested. "CONFERENCE" was embedded into a plate, riveted to the door.

As the door swung open they were greeted by four men, all sitting in a row behind a large oak desk. They were all older men, dressed in suits of bland beige and grey. There was nothing interesting about them particularly. Their ties matched their suits, and their suits matched their expressionless faces. Only Juan Trippe particularly stood out; he was wearing a greenish tweed suit with a bright green tie. His head was covered with a green tweed fedora.

"Good morning, Gentlemen." Roger said, making his way towards the end of the table, followed by Don. Peggy stood near them, setting up the easel and the storyboards that had been prepared.

"I'm Roger Sterling, this is Don Draper, Peggy Olson, Kaye Sharpe, and Pete Campbell."

Roger shook their hands, followed by each member of the team in order.

"Good to see you again, Roger." Juan said. "We couldn't get the whole board to join us as they were set back. This is Ron Mills, our VP of research and development, Lorne Hotchkiss, and Walter Tate, both board members here at Pan American."

Hotchkiss had allowed his eyes to wander over Kaye's figure for long enough that the group had noticed.

"We're selling ads, Mr. Hotchkiss. Not a date with the staff." Kaye said. Peggy had pulled out the storyboard and began putting it together, placing the storyboard neatly onto the easel.

The men laughed loudly, and Kaye smiled. Hotchkiss sat back in his chair, amused and embarrassed.

The group settled down into their respective seats at the table.

"We appreciate the time out of your days to see us." Pete said.

"You asked for it." Mills interjected. "Who are we to turn down the prospect of a little business?"

"Well, lets not delay," Juan jumped in. "Ladies and gentlemen, show us what you've got."

Roger turned to Don. He felt rushed, but he began regardless.

"Air travel was once an impossibility, for most people." Don stood up, buttoning the upper button on his light blue suit jacket. He made his way to stand beside the story board.

"It was expensive, dangerous, something used in wartime. People used planes as a tool to just get from one place to another. They were not overly concerned with safety, comfort; the joy in the experience. They just wanted to get where they wanted to go. Not so anymore." Don moved to sit slightly on the edge of the conference table.

"Now, people are flying in luxurious jetliners, above the clouds, being served champagne and caviar at 600 miles an hour. They're meeting with other passengers." Don stood, and removed one of the black panels from the easel. It revealed well-dressed people, sitting together and laughing while on a plane. They were eating caviar on a dried bread cracker. "They're enjoying each others company in an experience that can only be described with 'heavenly'. We had the privilege of touring the Clipper of the Skies, and I think our sentiments can only be echoed in one word: "awesome." Worthy of awe and wonder. It took you to another place. I felt nostalgia for a place I'd never been, people I'd never met; yet."

He flipped the storyboard again and it showed a picture of a 707 cutting through the clouds. Kaye was watching Don. His voice transformed from a stoic emptiness to vigour. It was as if he was recapturing the woman of his lost youth and trying to seduce her. For the first time, she felt herself become attracted to him. Not in some girlish way, but almost with an air of respected and admiration. Don was talking to the whole room and at the same time was just talking to you by yourself and telling you a story.

"Pan American Airways was the first, and still the only company to sell more than just a ticket. It's not about getting there anymore." Don flipped the board again, to a group of people exiting a 707 and smiling, laughing, as they descended the stairs onto a gangway. "Pan Am is known around the world. Under every flag, there's an airport, and at every airport, there's Pan Am." He flipped through different countries airports, with their stereotypical garments, all while standing aboard one of the "Clippers." Finally, he reached the last slide. It was a 707 flying high above the ground towards the viewer; the entire world visible below the plane; the Pan Am logo sitting at the top of the advertisement. "It's not just about the experience, it's about the journe too." He gave the room a short pause.

"Pan Am." Don said. "We don't give you a trip – We give you the world."

Again there was a brief pause in the room. The board members looked to each other, and then back at Sterling Cooper.

"I like it. Pithy, short, and to the point. We give 'em the world." Ron Mills said. Juan turned to Don and spoke next.

"It's good."

"It is good." Roger repeated.

"It's good?" Don said.

The board members looked to Juan.

"Yes, that's what I said. It's good. Not ground-breaking. But it is good."

Walter Tate, the balding bespectacled man said, "I think I speak for this convened board when I say we'll talk this over, am I right?" He looked left and right to his equals and they nodded their heads in agreement.

"It's not good." Don spat. "It's great." He moved over to stand between Kaye and Roger. "Pan Am does what everyone else does, but they do it better. Pan Am doesn't just fly to Bermuda, they fly to St. Maarten's, they fly to Adelaide, they fly non-stop almost anywhere. No other airline promises you that. Every airline promises you a flight. No other airline promises you the world. "

"We know." Juan finalized. "We will call you back."

There was another silence over the room.

"Thank you for your time, gentlemen." Don moved over, and stacked the black boards into their carrying case. Peggy looked over to Kaye with fear.

"We have a lot more options, gentlemen, we could come back with some other things." Pete spoke up this time, leaning over the conference table.

"I think we've seen enough." Juan said. "We'll make our call, and let you know."

"Have the courtesy of telling us you don't care, next time." Don said.

"Excuse me?" Juan shot back.

"If you invited us here just to waste our time, I wouldn't have bothered coming."

"Mr. Draper, I can assure you we had no intention of wasting your time, nor did we—"

While Juan played out his assurances of good intentions towards Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, Kaye had grabbed Don's hand. It was not a gesture of romance, but instead of assurance towards him. That he had done enough. It didn't matter what the outcome was. Don looked down to her expressionless face. His anger was soothed by her slight upturned lip. It was in this horrifying moment of failure that Kaye thrived. In the moments when a person is cornered and there is no escape, Kaye's brain became alive like a fire ignited by jet fuel.

"—intend to have this outcome. Goodday, ladies and gentlemen, and we will get back to you."

The Sterling Cooper team stood from their seats, and began collecting their things. Kaye let go of Don's hand.

"It's about the _journey_." Kaye said. Roger and Pete darted their eyes to her. She had come out of what seemed to be a stupor.

"Pan Am gives you a journey. It's about the people you meet along the way." She moved over to stand by the window, and leaned up against the long steel register running along the lower wall. Each person stopped to listen to the young woman.

"The stories that you tell you friends upon your return. Once we were limited to telling our friends, our families, how boring our drives were. Now we're saying we met Frank Sinatra on a flight to Los Angeles, we ate Lobster Thermidor with the Rockefellers on a flight to Cleveland; we kissed the hand of… Ginger Rogers on our way out of the Worldport at New York. A flight is not the space in between anymore. It is the trip. The road worth travelling turns out not to be a road at all."

Kaye grabbed one of the black markers stashed in the bottom of the storyboard bag. She uncapped it with her mouth, and drew a line through the previous slogan. She spat it out onto the ground.

"Don is right. You can fly with anyone. TWA, American Airlines, Braniff; Any company can take you almost anywhere. Yes, Pan Am has more destinations, but most of your air traffic lands you in major airports where most airlines fly anyway. It's not about the destination. Every airline offers you a destination. Only Pan Am gives you the experience. Only Pan Am gives you the journey; the story you tell along the way."

Kaye put the new storyboard she'd re-written onto the easel, turning to face the reduced board of Pan American Airways.

"Pan Am." she said. "Everyone has a destination. We give you the journey."

Don stared intently at Juan. There was a hush over the room. Juan smiled.

"That." He replied. "Is Pan Am."


	8. Chapter 8 - Speed & a Song

Along many billboards running down large avenues in New York, Boston, Chicago, L.A, and many other cities, one could spot 707s flying away from the earth into the stratosphere. They were marked with the words "Everyone gives you a destination – We give you the _journey_."

Pan American Airways market share had increased by 4 percent over the following 3 months. Harry Crane created a 1-minute commercial bit that stood the test of television, and had people talking about how they wanted to get away from the world and take a journey. They had even managed to get Dean Martin to be the narrator of the commercial. "I'll see you up there." He said, as he winked at the camera. "Everyone gives you a destination— _he takes a sip of whiskey_ —We give you the journey."

Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce was doing well. Pan American provided generous compensation to the company; enough that a few short weeks after the success of the pitch, they moved offices to Suite 3750 on the 37th floor of 1271 Avenue of the Americas, in the Time-Life Building. It was a bounding leap in prominence and price for the firm. Because of Pan Am's backing, they were able to furnish the office, hire new staff, and expand their operations. New brands such as Cremora, Colgate, Kelton Watches, Smith-Corona typewriters, and Scotties flooded in their doors after seeing the Pan American work. SCDP was on the upswing. There were growing pains, as there always is in times of change. There wasn't enough office space to accommodate Joan on the floor, so they turned a walk-through between the main hallways into Joan's office. She was also connected directly to the Conference Room, something she used to her advantage with the PA system more than once.

Kaye's office was particularly long and was stationed beside Pete Campbell's office along the inside wall. She was stuck behind the kitchenette and became frequently annoyed by the secretaries chattering. She was also annoyed that she was so far from Don's office and had to make hourly trips across the entire office floor for two-minute conversations. Sometimes in boredom, she would call Don's secretary, Allison, and just speak over the phone to Don.

Kaye hired a trucking company to ship her fathers Nash Ambassador saloon back to her sister in Connecticut. She stuck a note on the dash that said, "Sorry.", along with $1000 cash in the glovebox. Roger demanded that they go out and buy her a new car with the $10 000 generous bonus SCDP had given her for landing Pan Am. After some haggling and a $5900 check later, she drove back to Gramercy Park with a brand-new black Mercedes-Benz 230SL roadster.

Joan reported Greg missing the following day after the Pan Am pitch. The police found no trails, and nothing to go on. He disappeared into that cold January night, drunk beyond belief as Joan put it, and never returned the next day. Joan hardly spoke about the affair.

Apartment 603

34 Gramercy Park East,

New York, New York

May, 1964

There were three short raps on Kaye's apartment door. She was not expecting any visitors. Her eyes snapped onto the door. She had a cigarette in her hand and was watching the new Admiral Color television she had purchased. Clicking the large remote, the TV blinked and shut off. Lazing across the hardwood floors in a long white bathrobe, she cracked the door open, leaving the chain to hold it.

Two policemen stood in the egress of her doorway. The more senior officer was standing in front. Kaye's heart slammed in her chest.

"Miss Kaye Sharpe?"

"Yes."

"Excuse our intrusion, miss…" the officer turned away his face and looked at the doorjamb. Kaye didn't move.

"What is it?" Kaye stated.

"We were hoping to have a word with you… in private. I'm Officer Bernier and this is Officer Hendrickson… perhaps you'd like to put something else on… or you could come to the station. We could wait in the car… if you'd prefer."

Kaye sighed.

"Wait here." She mumbled. Walking back into the apartment, she went to her walk-in closet and pulled a white blouse and black skirt from the rack. Her hands began shaking and a great fear clutched her. After slipping it on, she brushed her hair slowly, putting it up into a small bun. _They couldn't have traced it to me_. After 10 minutes, she returned to the door, half-heartedly hoping they had become disinterested and left. She undid the chain. The officers were still standing there. Their joking manner quickly disappeared, and they entered the apartment.

"Sorry again for the intrusion."

"Take a seat." She pointed to the sofa. Kaye sat down on a large upholstered chair beside the television set. She had a moment to analyse them now. The senior officer was quite portly, with grey hair and a large moustache that obscured his upper lip. He wore great spectacles that took up much of his cheeks. He reminded her of Santa Claus in his 50s. The younger man was handsome. A chiselled jaw with a cleft in his chin, brown eyes and black hair. He looked like a mix of Italian and English. _On his mothers side;_ Kaye noted. He was muscular and looked to be around 32.

"This may come as a shock to you, Ms. Sharpe. We're sorry to be coming to you at your home, its just that you were one of the last people to see Mr. Harris alive," the younger officer with "Hendrickson" stitched into his uniform said.

Kaye spoke slowly. "Alive?"

"Yes." He continued. "We found a body, beyond easy recognition, in the marshland beside Calder Lake. It's a small lake north of the Kensico Reservoir. We believe it, preliminarily, to be the body of Mr. Gregory Harris, he is—was—married to your co-worker, Joan Harris. We've already spoken to her and she mentioned you were one of the last people to see him alive."

Silence.

"What else did she say?"

The officers looked to each other quickly, and back to Kaye.

"Just that your work was having a function the night he disappeared and that as she left, you noticed things were awry with Mr. Harris."

"Well yes, he was stomping after her out the door. I was concerned." Kaye said. She stood, feeling lightheaded. "Sorry gentlemen, will you excuse me?"

Both of the policemen stood quickly, watching her walk around the corner. She moved over, grabbing her clutch, which was on the side table near the bathroom. Entering the bathroom, she pulled out a flask and downed the entire tin of whiskey. She dropped it to the floor and sat down on the toilet, putting her hands between her knees as an ear-splitting headache came over her. Her hands were shaking violently and her heart was thumping so loud she could swear the policemen would hear it.

"Are you alright, Miss?" The junior officer Hendrickson said from outside.

"Yes." She said. "I'm just not feeling well. I stayed home today."

"We can come back at a later time."

"No, it's fine." She said. "Stay. I'll be out in a minute."

Once the alcohol began taking its effect, the headache lessened. The shaking began calming down. Pulling open her clutch again, she sifted through her belongings. At the bottom of the purse was a small brown vial full of white pills marked _Benzedrine_. She spun the cap off, crushed one of the pills into powder, and poured out the powder onto the crux of her hand between her thumb and index finger. After snorting the powder, she leaned back, and closed her eyes, placing her head against the wall. It wasn't long before the beginnings of a high came on. Kaye washed her hands of the excess, cleaned her lips and nose, and applied a very light layer of makeup. Her cheeks were looking slightly gaunt, so she coloured them with blush.

"Sorry about that." She sat back down opposite the officers. "Where were we?"

* * *

Don Draper's Cadillac was just exiting the 87 freeway eastbound between Manhattan and Ossining, when a driver nearly clipped him on the turn. He huffed angrily and smacked the horn. The other car sped away quickly; its tail between its legs. Don jumped back onto the accelerator and flew down the small streets of Ossining, rolling up to the residence of Henry and Betty Francis. The house, once his family home, was now stained.

A young home-nurse opened the door. She had bright green eyes, blonde hair much like Betty's and very large red lips. Don knew her well from his visits over the past months, and took a moment to look her over from top to bottom.

"Good morning Nancy." He said as the woman moved out of the doorway to allow him by. "Are the kids ready?"

"Yes. They're just putting together their things. You're a little early."

"Then I guess we have some time together to chat." He smiled. The young woman smiled back, biting the corner of her lip.

"I suppose so. Busy day at work I imagine?"

"I try to keep things simple. I don't like complicated." He leaned up against the wall near the door. Nancy moved closer to him.

"Ah." She said. "Neither do I. I don't like when I get in over my head."

There was a brief silence between them.

"Dad!" Bobby shouted, running down the stairs. Don bent down on one knee, extending his arms for his son. He gave Bobby a quick hug and let him go. "We're going on a field trip today." He exclaimed.

"Where to?" Don asked.

"The Natural History museum. We get to see the dinosaurs!"

"Sounds like fun." He ruffled Bobby's hair. Sally came down the stairs slowly looking towards her father, but did not say anything until she was upon them. She had healed quickly, especially her jaw. A few gashes were scarred but she came out the best of all three injured.

"Morning." She said. "Let's go." Sally slid on her boots. From upstairs a woman's voice called out.

"Don! Could you come here. Tell the kids to wait a minute."

Sally rolled her eyes and closed the front door, which was in her hand.

"Alright." He replied. He walked up the stairs and into Betty's room. She was propped up against the headboard reading a book. Her face had undergone much healing in the past month. The large gash across her face looked well, however the scar was still prominent. The bruising had reduced drastically and her hair had begun growing around the tear in her scalp. She was ordered to leave bed as little as possible, and so Betty hired a live-in nurse who doubled as a maid and a nanny. They paid Nancy well.

"Bobby has a field trip downtown. Do you want to pick him up from the museum?"

Don paused before he spoke. "Sure."

"You don't have to."

"I will."

"Alright. Ignore Sally. She's in a mood."

"I can tell." Don moved to sit on the bed beside her. "How are you feeling?"

"Well." She looked up to him. "I appreciate what you've done, taking care of me. And the kids. Since the accident. Your gestures are kind. Don't send the flowers to the house again."

Don smiled. He took Betty's hand in his.

"Listen Don." Betty started, her voice very hushed. "I know we've… spent a lot of time together lately. Known each other… intimately. This isn't good for us. It can't continue."

Don leaned in and kissed Betty passionately. She did nothing to resist his advances and kissed him back. She pulled away slowly, and he moved the kisses to her neckline. She closed her eyes, drifting away.

"Not here. Not now." She whispered gently. Don moved back. "This still isn't good for us. Henry is still my husband. And I love him. No more. He is starting to really come around."

"Last time I saw him, he was slumped against the wall and didn't know his right from his left."

"He's getting much better." She snapped. "He's only had two months of rehabilitation, Don. It's going to take a lot longer until he's back to normal. I don't regret what's happened between us. I like feeling loved. But it can't keep going. Henry will be coming home to stay soon."

"I understand." Don said, holding her hand once again.

"No more flowers." She said.

"No more flowers." He repeated, standing up from the bed and moving to the doorway. Don left her room without looking back.

"Goodbye Nancy." Don turned to leave with the children out the door, but Nancy's voice stopped him.

"Don, wait just a minute." She walked over to the kitchen counter and wrote something down on a pad of paper. She returned quickly.

"If you're ever out here and need something to do."

On the slip of paper was a phone number.

"I'm sure I can find something."

* * *

"You were just answering that Mr. Harris left the venue following Mrs. Harris." The younger policeman confirmed. Kaye sat silently collecting her thoughts. The Benzedrine made her want to rush through everything and run a marathon. She began pulsing her leg nervously.

"Oh." She paused. "Yes… Joan left early. She walked out the door after telling me Greg was on the other side of the bar. None too pleased."

"What occurred after that moment?"

Another pause.

"Well, I stood up, and followed him out the door. He was furious, it seemed."

"How did you know that?" The older policeman asked. "That he was furious, I mean."

"His demeanour. His fists were clenched. His jaw was tight and he was clearly drunk."

"So you worried for Mrs. Harris' safety?"

"Yes."

The younger policeman was writing down their conversation in his notebook.

"Has Mr. Harris ever been violent in public to your knowledge?"

"Sorry?"

"Has he ever hurt anyone? In public. Has he ever laid a hand on Mrs. Harris in an uncouth manner in public?"

"I'm not aware." Kaye said, standing up. Her face was flushed and heart was racing. She felt euphoric but paranoid in the extreme.

"Are you alright, Ms. Sharpe?" Hendrickson asked.

"Yes. This is just upsetting you know. He may not have be a nice man, but to die…" She trailed off.

"We know Miss, and we're sorry to bring this up to you. But were trying to get to the bottom of this case. Though Mr. Harris seems to have been a hothead, he did not deserve to die." The older officer interjected.

"Decidedly not." Kaye said, moving to look out the window. She smoothed her hands over each other multiple times and closed her eyes. "He gripped her by the arm and was dragging her to his car."

"What?" Hendrickson muttered.

"When they were outside." Kaye began. "I watched Greg pull her towards his car. She was clearly trying to get away from him."

"She didn't mention that, Al." Hendrickson turned to face his superior officer.

"Most don't." he spoke to Kaye again. "Continue, Ms. Sharpe."

"I watched her try to pull away from him. He held her arm tightly under his. They got into his car and I watched them drive away."

"Then what happened?" Bernier said.

"That's it." She said. "I decided to go home after that. Walked back to the bar, told the office I was leaving, and left."

"I see. You weren't concerned for her after that?"

"Their marriage was none of my business."

"Can anyone confirm you went home?" Bernier continued.

"No." Kaye said. "I went home alone and I live alone."

Hendrickson finished writing his notes.

Bernier spoke, "Thank you for your time, Ms. Sharpe. If we have any other questions, we will contact you. Sorry to take time from your day." Both men smiled, and turned to leave; the senior officer first, followed by the junior out the front door. As they were walking down the stairs, Hendrickson stopped and spoke something to Bernier. He ran back up the last flight of steps and just as Kaye was shutting the door, he was upon her. She stood silently, adjusting her glasses, waiting for him to speak.

"I just forgot my pen."

Kaye moved and allowed him back into the apartment. He took two short steps into the entrance when he stopped.

"I know this is highly unorthodox…" The man began quietly, "But I was hoping to call you."

Kaye stared blankly.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sharpe. I imposed. This was foolish."

Kaye, finally getting a hold of herself and shaking off the stupor, looked into his eyes.

"No, it's fine." She smiled lightly. "Call me." She took the notebook from his hand and wrote down her telephone number. "I'm busy often. Don't expect me to pick up fast. I will eventually."

He smiled.

"My name is John, by the way."

"See you soon, John." Kaye said. The officer smiled and walked backwards into the door, excusing himself for clumsiness, and closing it behind him.

Kaye's smile faded from her visage. She look emptily into the abyss. She sat down on the sofa, grabbing a makeup compact from a box on the shelf of the side table. She pulled out another vial of pills, this one marked _Raphetamine_. She crushed two pills, spreading them down a thin line on the mirror and used a metal tube to inhale through her right nostril. She pinched her nose in pain and threw the items back into the wooden box. Lazing back onto the sofa, she waited until she was so high she began losing track of herself. Each movement of her fingers over the sofa's ragged upholstery felt increasingly enjoyable.

Kaye felt like she was jumping off the Empire State Building. Her adrenaline was coursing like a river. She hopped up from her seat, running to grab her keys and coat. In a blinding moment, she had put it on, locked the door and was rampaging down the stairs and out the front door of Gramercy Park into her Mercedes. The car started with a rumble and she shot out from the curb into traffic, veering around cars to get to the light the quickest. She knew Joan would be just getting ready to leave for work and took the 20-minute drive to get to her apartment, avoiding the main congested avenues and staying on the side streets instead. The peppy car was up to the task. Kaye pulled up out front of Joan's apartment, slapped the gear lever to neutral, and pulled the emergency brake. She lit a cigarette, exited the car and marched up the front steps, ringing Joan's buzzer.

"Hello?" Joan said through the speaker.

"It's Kaye." She flicked some ash.

The door buzzed open. Kaye ascended the stairs to Joan's apartment and Joan held the door open as she approached.

"They found him. And you never told me." She said as Joan closed the door, inhaling on her cigarette.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You knew and didn't tell me?"

"They came by yesterday evening." Joan moved nearer to Kaye. "What did you tell them?"

"The truth." Kaye looked around suspiciously. "That I watched you and Greg drive off into the night and then I went home to bed."

"That's good." She said. "I told them the same thing. He was drunk, and drove off into the night."

Kaye moved silently around the coffee table, looking around Joan's apartment while smoking. She had flashbacks standing over Greg's lifeless body. Joan's screams. Her sobbing on the sofa, and their long drive to Calder Lake.

"He drove off into the night." Kaye snapped to face Joan. "Are you ready to go? I'll drive."

"Alright." Joan said. The two women left the apartment and descended the stairs. Kaye flicked her cigarette butt into the bush. They reached the Mercedes. Once they were on the road, Kaye spoke.

"You never know who's listening."

"What do you mean?"

"They could have bugged your phone. I didn't want to talk in your apartment."

"Who's they?"

"The police. The FBI. I don't know."

"Are you high?" Joan turned to look at Kaye. She paused. "Your pupils are wide. You're high aren't you."

"It's just an amphetamine."

"Those things can make you crazy, you know?" Joan said, looking into the mirror attached to her visor.

"They keep me going. Where did you throw the gun?" Kaye asked.

"I didn't." Joan said.

"What do you mean you didn't?"

"I didn't throw out the gun. I still have it."

Kaye's face flushed beet-red and she raised her hand off the wheel in exasperation.

"Are you insane!"

"I didn't think they would ever find him." Joan said angrily. Kaye swerved the Mercedes around a large truck, honking as he was driving slightly below the speed limit. "It's well hidden Kaye, I'm not a fool."

"You fooled me." Kaye snapped. "We're going to jail because you were too stupid to dump the evidence."

"Don't you dare talk to me that way." Joan faced Kaye. "You killed my husband and I've had to keep it a secret. You have not even the slightest idea what that is like."

"He was raping you!" Kaye screamed, the veins popping out of her temples and the long birthmark centred on her forehead became visible. "He was better off dead."

"He was." She conceded. "But he didn't deserve to die like that. I should have just divorced him."

"Well I divorced him for you." Kaye said, swerving around another car.

"Why are you driving like a maniac?" Joan exclaimed, holding on to the handle above the passenger window.

"Because I hate traffic and I want to get to work."

There was a silence between them. Neither spoke for five minutes, and it was broken only by Kaye saying two words she hadn't said before.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Joan said.

"No, I'm sorry for killing Greg."

Joan paused.

"Thank you." She looked at Kaye. "It hasn't been easy. On the other hand, it hasn't been hard. He was a miserable man." She paused again. "He was a miserable lay too."

Kaye was so taken aback by the morbidity and bluntness of Joan's comment that she began laughing. The partial euphoria, the extreme paranoia, and the slamming adrenaline came together in one long wheezing laugh. Joan smirked and let Kaye finish.

"You're going to get us 25 to life. But, I always liked you. Even if you're a real bitch sometimes." Kaye said, pulling up to 1271 Avenue of the Americas.

"Don't tell anyone. But you're a real bitch too." Joan smiled.

* * *

"Yesterday, I was sitting down with Paul Masterson from Jai Lai for our meeting at The Senegal, and who do I see next to me in the other booth? Kirk Lorrie from Muriel Cigars."

Pete Campbell was speaking to Roger, Bert, Lane, Don and Joan in their weekly business meeting. Joan was clacking away on her typewriter keeping her strict order. She had just announced new business on the docket and Pete was the first to speak up.

"He's meeting with someone over at Leo Burnett and the guys just burning up his time. Some poorly planned quick pitch about their new line of cigarillos."

"What's a cigarillo?" Bert asked.

"It's a small cigar. Looks like a cigarette almost, but the same color as a cigar. These new ones have plastic tips for ease of smoking." Pete added.

"Cute." Bert smiled. "Like a ladies cigar."

Joan looked up to Bert and continued typing without speaking.

"Anyway, after the pitch was over, Lorrie stands up, shakes the poor saps hand, and gives him the "I'll call you" bit. I smirked. Grabbed my card, stepped over to him briefly and said, "When you're ready to have an agency take your cigarillos seriously, come see us. That was yesterday." A grin was plastered on Pete's face. "And he just called me this morning saying he wants us to run up a pitch for their new 'Tipalet' brand."

"That's great." Roger said. "Joannie can you get some more details about Muriel Cigars? Don, get Kaye to run the boys and Peggy around the mill. When did he want this done?"

"Well, he won't be waiting around forever. If Burnett's man fell on his face yesterday, they probably don't want to wait long to pick up the slack." Pete responded.

"I'll tell Kaye." Don said.

"We should be considering, by the way, some sort of new television bit for Pan Am. Perhaps some diversity for their portfolio." Lane interjected. "We've been doing well this far, but we need to keep fresh to keep them happy. Lord knows they are the reason we're here."

"Is that all new business?" Joan asked, finally looking up from her typewriter; she pulled her reading glasses from the bridge of her nose.

"I almost brushed shoulders with Lee Iacocca last week at the Falconite Club. Does that count."

"Did he notice you?" Joan asked.

"No."

"I spoke Friday with Gibson Guitars, they contacted me believing we were part of the old Sterling Cooper which was shipped off the McCann." Lane smirked, "And so I obliged them to a meeting. They sent a guitar, ahead of themselves. I left it in the Creative Room."

"Now we can pretend to be rock-stars." Roger said.

"Anything else?" Joan asked. "No? Motion to adjourn the meeting?"

Lane raised his hand.

"Motioned by Lane Pryce. Do we have a second?"

Don raised his hand.

"Motioned carried by Donald Draper. The meeting is officially adjourned."

Each member sitting around the table stood up and began leaving the conference room. Kaye was on the other side of the wall in Joan's office, listening through the recorder microphone. She turned it off and jumped back into the creative room. Peggy, Joey Baird and their half-time Art Director Stan Rizzo were sitting around discussing the guitar that was propped up against the wall.

"Who brought it in?"

"Lane." Kaye said, walking into the room. "From Gibson."

Don walked into the creative room. Joey quickly removed his legs from the coffee table, dragging two magazines with him.

"Well. Now that we're comfortable." Don said. Joey picked up the magazines and put them back on the table. "Two new clients. Muriel Cigars, and Gibson Guitars. Kaye will be watching over both, Peggy I want you specifically on Muriel Cigars and Joey, you on Gibson."

"Did they give us anything to go on?" Peggy asked.

"No." Don replied. "Muriel is a long shot and Gibson was looking for _Sterling Cooper McCann_ but found us on accident. We'll need something to really catch their attention, Muriel Cigars specifically. Joan is doing research. Pull some previous ads to get an idea of what the want generally. Muriel is launching their new brand of small cigars called cigarillos. Their name for the sub-brand is Tipalet. I'm going to my office to make a call."

Don left the room.

"Where does he get off to just make calls all the time." Joey said.

"You can do that when your name is on the door." Peggy quipped, finishing a doodle she had begun.

Kaye walked over to the guitar and started looking at it.

"At this rate you'll be older than Cooper before that happens" Stan said, picking up a LIFE magazine about Vietnam and perusing the pictures.

"Shaddap. I work hard." Joey sneered.

"Hardly work, more like." Kaye said.

"Oh, blow me." Joey replied.

Kaye picked up the guitar, thinking. Her eyes were unfocused, looking at the magazine stand in the corner.

"Not a bad idea." She said, looking at nothing in particular.

"Really?" Joey spun around looking at her.

"Yeah like she would blow you." Stan said, flipping the pages of the magazine in his hand. Peggy laughed.

"No." She said, looking at him. "Good idea for an ad."

"I agree." Stan said. "I always thought an ad with a blow-jay on the side would get some attention."

"Not the act." Kaye began plucking the Gibson. "The innuendos."

"Care to smoke a cigarette? Pretend it's a dick." Peggy joked. Stan smiled broadly.

"Just simply blow your nicotine load all ov—"

Joey was cut off by Joan walking into the creative room. He straightened his back immediately.

"Kaye, can I see you in my office please." Joan said.

"Time for some lesbian action." Joey whispered to Stan.

"If only you had a camera." She replied.

Joey snapped his gaze to the redhead.

Kaye put the guitar down, and followed Joan into her office. She closed the door behind her.

"The police called." She said, leaning back against her desk. "They want me to come down to the station to identify Greg."

Kaye stood silently. Joan looked up to meet her gaze.

"What should I do?" She asked.

"Go to the station. Answer their questions."

"I don't know if I can see him again."

"You won't have to. His body is… beyond recognition. The officer told me. They'll show you some of his things." Kaye said.

"They're saying it might be foul play…" Joan trailed off. She looked down to her hands, which were trembling. "What are we going to do?"

Kaye reached into the small pocket on her skirt, and removed a brown vial.

"What's that?" Joan asked. "I don't need it."

"Raphetamine. It calms your nerves. Or so the bottle says." Kaye pulled one pill out and gave it to Joan who looked at the pill for a long moment before swallowing it. Kaye reached and held Joan's hands. Joan looked down, and then up to Kaye's eyes.

"I'll drive you, we'll go this afternoon. We can talk about what… _happened_ on the way."

"Alright." Joan said. "What should I do about the gun?"

"Get rid of it." Kaye said. "As soon as you can."

Neither spoke. Kaye let Joan's hands go.

"One of the officers asked me on a date." Kaye said.

"What?"

"He came back up after the interview. Asked if he could call me. I think I'll go out with him."

"Why?"

"I'll get him drunk and get him to talk. Men love to talk." Kaye looked to Joan. "You know that better than anyone here. On the flipside, he's handsome."

"What a fool." Joan said.

"The officer, or me?"

Joan smiled.

"Thank you." She said. "I feel better now."

"Good." Kaye said. Joan's hands had ceased trembling. "If you need me, I'll be next door."

Kaye walked out of Joan's office and back into the Creative Room. Stan was still reading the magazine and Peggy had begun copying down slogan's with small drawings beside them on a piece of paper. Joey was crumpling up used paper and trying to down them into the waste basket on the other side of the room. The guitar was sitting on the sofa, and Kaye picked it up again. She began plucking the same rich chords repeatedly. Stan looked over to her.

" _Wise men say…"_ She began singing. Her voice had a sweet curl that was hard to describe. She was no Sandra Dee or Patsy Cline, but was simple and clear.

" _Only fools rush in,… but I can't help, falling in love with you."_

Stan had put the magazine down, and Peggy was listening now. Peggy thought of her torrid affair with Pete Campbell. She was appalled that it had come back to her listening to the song. She remembered the feeling of joy and hope when being around Pete; the rush of excitement. Then she remembered being in the hospital and Don looming over her whispering, " _It never happened. It will shock you how much it never happened_."

" _Shall I stay… would it be a sin?"_

Don walked around the corner, a coffee in his hand. He was about to speak when he saw the creative team staring in silence. He looked over to see his protégé, sitting playing guitar. His mind threw him back a decade. It was 1953 again. He was telling Anna Draper how much he was in love with Betty Hofstadt. The wrinkles were gone from his face and his eyes were still bright, and so were Anna's.

" _If I can't help, falling in love with you."_

He thought of their marriage, and their wedding day. He saw Betty walking down the isle towards him with her veil over her face, and finally, he removed it. There was something about the great hope he saw in Betty's eyes; something he thought would endure through even the most foolish of his decisions. He was wrong. Don turned to see Roger beside him, watching Kaye.

" _Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, something's are meant to be_."

It was 1952 in Roger's mind. None of the complications of his life existed as they did now. He had just met Joan Holloway and she was hired as their head secretary. The beautiful bodacious redhead gave him the look that knocks a man on their ass as she walked back to the secretary's pen. And that's when Roger knew he had to have her. He would do anything. His mind clouded and he stopped seeing straight. He smiled thinking of the older days of his life.

Joan had come out of her office to the sound of music and to see Roger and Don in the hall, peeking in the creative room. Joan followed suit.

" _Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can't help, falling in love with you."_

Joan remembered Greg as he once was. The stalwart safety that his life offered her away from the unknown of a relationship with Roger. She may have worked her way up past men like Paul Kinzie, but she got caught on Roger. She thought of how kind Greg had been in the beginning. Like a breath of fresh air. He took her on dates to beautiful places, showered her with gifts; was a true gentlemen. She shuttered thinking of his cold lifeless body, melting away in lye and muck at the bottom of a swamp. She longed for important companionship. A meaningful relationship. She was thankful for Kaye. Even if the girl was a bratty child. She actually cared.

" _For I… can't… help, falling in love… with… you."_


	9. Chapter 9 - Cadillac & a Thunderbird

Brooklyn & Ossining, New York

May 1964

Don had called Nancy after the weekly business meeting. He gave the creative team their bone and walked back to his office, closing the door. After a call to the number Nancy gave him, they had setup a date for the end of the week. Don picked the young woman up in his Coupe de Ville. " _Most of the men I know don't drive Cadillacs_ " She said to him as they drove away. " _I suppose you need to know better men_ " He replied. The swooping boat arrived outside Delmonico's after a long ride on the freeway. Don doted on her every need during their dinner. He could see that eyes were on him from other men in the restaurant. They wanted to be him. They wanted to live his life. Nancy was thoroughly enjoying herself. She felt a self-respect that other girls her age didn't feel. _They_ weren't dining at Delmonico's with a Madison Avenue ad man. _They_ weren't being chauffeured in a Cadillac.

After dinner, the Cadillac could be spotted on the 87 north all the way into Ossining. Nancy lived in a small apartment at the south edge of the city. She was being put up, in part, by the Francis' and the other part by her parents. She had dreams of attending Juilliard and this was her ticket to stay above water.

Don began unclothing her as they walked into her apartment. She put up no resistance and began removing her undergarments as they kissed passionately. She unbuckled Don's belt, drew down his pants, and lured him into the bedroom. Soon, she was on top of him and giving Don an exhilarating thrill. They were both getting off much more on their mindsets than to what was happening.

Nancy had always dreamed of being with a strong, wealthy man. Don was handsome, well off, unattached, and free to play. He was gentle in person and very firm in bed. Don was looking for a foolish throwaway. Nancy was another girl in a long line of women, which swirled through his head. Her naiveté reminded him a lot of Midge Daniels with a better body than the girl from Pan Am. Don was very rough with Nancy, unlike his previous encounters. He could see she enjoyed it.

"Well…" Nancy panted, catching her breath afterwards. "That was, amazing. Thank you."

"For what?" Don scoffed.

"For dinner. The lay was alright." She smiled.

Don enjoyed her coy attitude. He kissed her once again and she responded by putting her arm around his shoulder and holding his neck. With her other hand, she pulled the sheets over herself.

"It's cold. This place is always frigid. I'm going to have a shower to warm up. Do you want to join me?" Nancy said.

"I'll get it started." Don left the bed, entering the nearby bathroom and starting the shower. He went inside once the water was warm and allowed the stream to wash away the day. He stood silently under the head, thinking of his ex-wife. She troubled his mind consistently as of late. Their rekindled romance was ruining his joy. Nancy was suddenly upon him, kissing his collarbone and up his neck. He kissed her gently this time, letting her lips do much of the work over his.

"Are you going to stay?" She asked between kisses. "You could drive me in the morning."

He thought for a moment.

"No, I should be leaving." He kissed her once more. "I'll call you."

"Okay." Nancy moved out of the way so that Don could get by. "See you later, tiger."

After drying off, Don put back on his clothes, coiffed his hair, and left the apartment. He made his way down to his car. It was 1:00 in the morning. The car started and Don pulled out. As he was accelerating down Pleasantville Road heading towards the freeway, he felt a strange pang in his heart. Again, Betty came into his mind. He missed her companionship. He missed her tucking Sally and Bobby into bed when they were young. He missed the day they bought their first television set and how excited the children were to sit and watch together. He missed Friday nights with the Hanson's. Now Henry Francis had what he wanted most, and what he had for years.

Don turned the car off Pleasantville and headed towards Bullet Park Road. The Cadillac came to a halt down the street from #42 and Don parked. He left the car and walked up the street towards the house. After taking the walk up the path, he reached the front door, which was locked. Walking around, he came upon the side door. It was open.

The house was dark, and only the small lamp on the counter in the kitchen remained on. It was bright enough to illuminate part of the stairwell. Don ascended the stairs making as minimal noise as possible. He watched each step carefully. Once he reached the landing, he made a left and tiptoed down the hall towards Betty's room. The horrible thought suddenly occurred to Don that Henry might have returned. He hesitated outside the door, his hand on the knob. He had gotten this far.

The door opened with several small creaks. Don slid inside, and closed the door behind him. Betty was alone and asleep with a sleep mask on. Don moved slowly over to her. He sat beside her on the bed. He looked at her sleeping, admiring his ex-wife. Leaning in slowly, he moved his lips to kiss her. They touched gently with no response. Don added intensity and Betty responded in the slightest way by kissing in return. She began shaking her head, bringing herself awake.

Suddenly Betty screamed. She ripped the sleep mask from her face and reached for the lamp. Don recoiled, sitting further from her. The light came on.

"Don!" She said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Donald Draper." She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I missed you."

Betty looked at him.

"That's it?" She scoffed. "You drove all the way here just to kiss me and tell me you miss me?"

"Yes." Don muttered. Betty said nothing but propped herself against the headboard.

"We talked about this."

"I know. No flowers."

"You know what I meant."

Don stood up and moved himself closer to Betty. He was now towering over her.

"I need you, Bridie." Don said.

"What do you mean?"

A small smirk grew on Don's lips.

"You know exactly what I mean." He leaned in close to her face. His tone changed from a frightened puppy to a leopard on its haunches. His voice softened. "I need you. I want you. I only want you."

Don moved his face within a few inches of hers. Betty looked down to Don's mouth and then up to his eyes. She slumped back slowly. On the far side of the bedroom, near the door that was open a crack, a single prying eye was watching what was unfolding. In fear of being caught, the little eye disappeared from the crack as quietly as it had appeared.

"We talked about this…" Her voice grew meeker with every word.

"I don't care what we talked about." He was whispering now. Don sat down beside her on the bed, not changing the distance between them. "I want my Birdie."

There were no words exchanged between them for a long time.

"Then… take her." Betty said.

First, Don's kiss was gentle and pleasant but it quickly changed to passionate and obscene. He picked her up from her slouch and continued kissing her. Betty's night slip fell down her shoulder on one side. She sat on Don's lap, straddling him. Don pulled down the slip from her other shoulder and ran his hands up and down her neck. Betty moaned and clutched his arms. She removed Don's tie and his shirt as they kissed, falling back onto the bed.

"What are you waiting for?" She said.

* * *

Officer John Hendrickson had called Kaye the evening after the police incidents occurred. They had seen each other later in the day when Kaye drove Joan to the precinct. Joan identified Greg's belongings and collected them. His watch and wallet were all that remained. Hendrickson then sat Joan down and explained that there was indeed foul play involved and that it was likely that Greg had been killed in the following weeks after his disappearance. Who he had angered or why was unknown. Joan cried at the discovery, partly because of nervousness and partly because of the fear. She was comforted and handed back to Kaye, who drove her home.

John picked Kaye up from Gramercy Park the proceeding Friday night for their date. He was dressed to the nines in a black pinstriped suit and slacks. His hair was oiled and trimmed. He drove an oriental rose '58 Thunderbird with the hard top off. Kaye admitted he looked excitingly handsome. The 25-minute drive into Brooklyn was filled with small talk, revolving mostly around Kaye's career at Sterling Cooper. They stopped outside of Bamonte's, a small Italian place that Hendrickson's mother was very fond of.

"My mother's Italian." He said as they walked into the restaurant. "My father was Irish. So I love a good beer with my spaghetti."

Kaye smiled. They sat down in a little booth and were handed menus. As he began speaking more and more, Kaye came to the unfortunate realization that John Hendrickson often had a terrible disease, as her sister Elena would say. It was called "Foot-in-Mouth". He would begin a conversation well and fall flat on his face by the end. He spoke frequently about his likes; American cars, football, beer, Italian cooking and strawberry blondes. They ordered lasagne and spaghetti which arrived not long after the order.

"You told me you love your job." He said, taking a sip of his wine. "When did you start?"

"In December."

"Of this past year? What did you do before?"

"I freelanced." Kaye said, eating. A small piece of lasagne landed on her black dress. She flicked it off.

"You're telling me they hired you as the Assistant Director off the street after being a freelancer?" John asked.

"Yes." She said, looking out the window behind him.

"Bullshit." He laughed. "Tell the truth."

Kaye was caught off guard. She winced.

"That is the truth."

John smiled. Kaye said nothing.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"It's the truth." She said, looking down at her food.

"Where did you go to school?" He asked.

"I didn't"

"You didn't!" He exclaimed. "So you're telling me you never went to school, got hired off the street as a freelancer. And now you're making, what, over ten thousand a year?"

"I make a lot more than ten thousand." Kaye said, downing the glass of wine.

John leaned back, unable to see a direction to go. His ego was hurt now.

"Whose daughter are you?" He said.

"What?"

"Whose kid are you."

It took Kaye a long moment to understand the question. She snapped back at him.

"Walter Sharpe was my father. He owned the Haddonfield National Bank on King Street in Haddonfield, New Jersey."

"Ah, I see. He paid your way then."

"My father killed himself after the bank failed in 1942 by jumping off Rockefeller Plaza. I wasn't even four yet. So no. He did not in fact, pay my way."

There was a sobering silence between them. The waiter came around and refilled their wine glasses.

"I'm sorry." John said. "I was out of line."

"The truth." She began. "Is that I was homeless. I lived in the back half of my dead father's saloon car, freezing my ass off. I stole food from grocery stores. I thieved meals from take-out places. I committed check fraud constantly, had a fake account and name for funneling my funds, which was setup by a loan shark I knew from the Bronx, named Bruno. I stumbled into Sterling Cooper one terribly cold day. I stole food from the fridge and overheard just the right conversation at just the right time. I strung myself into a job long enough to prove to them I'm worth something. My father knew Juan Trippe himself and Juan gave us a chance at Pan Am. We moved from a shitty 4th floor hotel room at the Pierre to the 37th floor of the Time-Life building in three months. I'm now sitting across from you eating lasagne. That's the truth."

"I unplugged my precinct ears for that one. You're the best storyteller this side of the East River."

Kaye's face flushed and she ate more lasagne. She grabbed her wine glass and downed it all once again.

"What's the rush?"

"I just like wine." Kaye smiled through her teeth. John smiled back.

As the night continued on, John and Kaye drank heavily. Their meals were finished, and Kaye was being as encouraging as possible. John was eating it up. She leaned over the table more than a few times, exposing her breasts.

 _Not huge_. John thought to himself. _But big. She's got the body of a model too. Her momma must have done something to please the good Lord._

John made his way to the bathroom at one point. Kaye poured some of her Benzedrine powder into John's wine. He perked up mysteriously. He was starting to mouth off a bit, and his speech was slowing down. The waiter came around again.

"Will that be all?" he asked.

"Yes, just the bill." Kaye said. The waiter nodded and walked away.

"You know, you're even more beautiful than I remember." John said.

"Oh really."

"Yeah." He tilted his head around. "I wasn't expecting it. When you opened that door in your robe…" He made an obscene gesture, indicating his excitement.

Kaye scoffed, "At first glance you were handsome too."

He smiled bashfully, "My grandmother always thought so. How old are you?"

"How old do you think I am?"

The waiter came, placed the check on the table, and walked away.

"28?"

"I'm 24."

"That makes your story even better!" He smirked. "The youngest and hottest con on Madison. None like you. You're a goddess, you know?" He slurred a few of his words.

Kaye grinned, feeling slightly giddy from the wine, and looked down at the bill. It was $25.

"Pay and let's go." She stood up, wrapping her coat around her arms.

"Okay Ms. Sharpe." He pulled out some cash and tossed it into the check pan. "This better be worth it."

"Quit whining." She said, walking away from him. "I'll make it worth your time." John grinned from ear to ear. They left Bamonte's and got into his car, Kaye insisted she drive. John fired back that he was the only one who ever drove his car. Kaye pushed him over the passenger door into the seat. He laughed and they pulled away from the curb.

"Where do you live?" Kaye asked. John put his arm around her over her back.

"On Bristol Street, over in Brownsville."

"I don't know where that is."

"Not a native, eh?"

"I grew up in Connecticut, dad spent most of his time in Jersey."

"Follow the road. You're too beautiful, you know. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

 _How much Benny did I give him?_ She thought.

"It takes a lot to look as good as I do." Kaye said.

"You remind me of my mother." He said, caressing her shoulder with his hand.

"Alright Oedipus Rex."

"Hey, my mother is a saint. Cooks better than Betty Crocker, and could dance the night through. She doesn't have anything on you though."

Silence.

"How did Joan take the news?" She asked from the blue, watching John carefully to see how he reacted.

"Joan who?" He slurred. "Oh, the other girl, the redhead. She cried when we told her. Her poor husband hey? Shot through the back. Probably didn't know it was coming."

"Oh really?" Kaye said.

"Yeah poor bastard got a .32 slug right into his kidney. Bled out internally. Worst way to go." John smiled and yawned loudly. "The bullet was still inside him when we pulled him out of that swamp. Boy, I don't know what was in that wine, but I must be a lightweight or something. It was probably your friend who did it."

Kaye shot a glance over to him.

"What?"

"Well it's clear they weren't getting along, as you said." He laughed. "She probably just… offed him!" John slurred the whole sentence. "We're gonna go check her house."

"Poor guy." Kaye muttered, looking out the window.

"Yeah… I think tomorrow."

Kaye stayed silent now.

After making their way down the side streets, they arrived at his small two-story brick apartment. Kaye pulled up out front and turned off the car. She stretched as John opened the door and allowed her inside. It was a quaint apartment, with a few furnishings but was sparsely decorated. It lacked a woman's touch in every way. As John removed his coat and shoes, Kaye made her way into the kitchen to open the refrigerator. Inside, a six pack of Budweiser beer was tucked into the top corner. Pulling out one beer for herself and another for John, she slipped another Benzedrine tablet into the fizzing alcohol. John came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"A beer?" He laughed. "You're still not done."

"Beer gets the best of me." She said flipping around in his embrace, and handing him his beer. He took a long swig.

"Good." John kissed Kaye. He started quickly, with intensity but slowed down and savoured it. She responded in kind and placed her hands on his neck. He was clearly experienced. He moved his hands to her waist, placing the beer on the counter. He pulled her into him as he moved his right hand up and down her back. The anger she had towards him lessened slightly, enough that she could allow herself to close her eyes and enjoy him. He may have been the dullest knife in the drawer, but he was the prettiest. John picked Kaye up and placed her on the counter. She wrapped her legs around him as he stood and she put her beer down. John unzipped her dress with his hand and used the other to hold her face. Kaye unsnapped his suspenders and began unbuttoning his shirt. He removed it and tossed it to the floor. He picked Kaye up again and with his strength, he pulled the dress down to her knees and slipped it off. Once he had pulled away, Kaye used her leg to press down on his pants, which were too large for him and fell down to his ankles.

It had been a while since Kaye was intimate with a man, and she was excited. The man was pressing all of the right buttons.

"Well shit." He said, standing back and looking Kaye up and down. "You must be Greek because you're a god."

"Enough." Kaye said, pushing him lightly out of the kitchen area. "Finish your beer and take me upstairs."

John grabbed the beer and downed the whole can. Kaye tried to follow suit but it overfoamed and came out of her mouth. John laughed. He picked her up by the waist and held her above his head, bringing her down to his lips and they kissed. He carried her up the narrow staircase and into his bedroom. Other than a bed and a dresser, it was completely clean.

John unclasped Kaye's bra from behind and it fell to the floor. She turned and began kissing him again as he picked her up and pushed her against the wall, removing what was left of both of their clothing. Kaye moaned loudly as the second act was about the begin. John pulled away and stumbled to sit down on the bed.

"What?" She asked.

"I am so drunk." He laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what."

"My friend isn't cooperating."

"Oh." She smirked. "What a shame."

"I'm not feeling so good." John managed. He leaned back and passed out on the bed.

* * *

Don was standing in the ensuite bath of his old bedroom when he nicked himself shaving. With a scoff, he grabbed a piece of toilet paper and plugged the pore. Betty came up behind him, wearing nothing but an open bathrobe.

"Somethings never change." She said, watching him finish the remainder of small hairs near his sideburns.

"Henry's razor is dull. I was distracted." He said, looking at himself in the mirror.

"When aren't you?" Betty said, pressing her bare chest into Don's side. He put the razor down and turned to face her, kissing her lightly and then pulling away.

"What's gotten into you?" Betty asked, moving back into the bedroom, and slipping into her bed.

"I missed you, Betts." He said, putting back on his shirt.

"Tonight specifically I mean." Betty pulled out a cigarette from her golden case and lit it. "You were much more aggressive and… forceful."

"I'm sorry." He said, looking back to her from the window.

"No. That wasn't what I meant… I liked it. I mean what's happening, Don? What do you want from me?"

Don moved from his place at the window to the bedside where Betty was sitting. He didn't say anything until he had her hand in his.

"I don't know." He muttered.

"I won't leave Henry. You know that."

He winced. "I know."

"Then why do this to yourself."

'"Because I want you, Birdie. I want you."

Betty let Don's hand go.

"Don, you get bored in a moment. You want me now, only because you can't have me. If I left Henry, you would get bored of me within a year and have another woman. I would go back to suburbia, second place, and feel useless like I did when you were here. You're at work all the time. You hardly have time for the kids now, when you don't even have obligations to them."

Don sat in silence.

"This is why we need to stop. I will always have a place for you in my heart. But I can't live like I did before. I can't live in the background, under your thumb and shadow. And I always would. You're not going to change, and neither am I."

"And you're much better here?" Don said.

"What does that mean?"

"Is this life so different?" Don was angry now. His voice deepened, "Was Henry all that you thought he was going to be? Your voice echoes off the walls in this place. How is this life so different?"

"I've made my bed, Don. You made yours. In fact, you made it many different times in different places with different people. That's why you're not in my bed, with me, every night, here." Betty stood up, her face now flushed red. "You've had me. You've had me whenever you wanted. What more do you want? Is this revenge for before?" She was now just underneath his chin.

"No." He said.

"Then what!"

"I don't know!" He finished. "I don't know." The contempt was gone. His voice hollowed out. Betty calmed herself quickly. She had deflated him.

"Don, you didn't even trust me enough to share your secrets with me. I shared everything with you. I gave you every part of myself. You gave me Tuesdays and Fridays. You have no idea what it's like. All you have to do is come up with pithy jokes and look up women's skirts. I have to raise our kids. Now I have an invalid husband, a bratty daughter, and a new baby."

Betty moved back from Don and went to lay in bed once again. She sighed.

"I'll start now." He muttered, looking from his feet over to Betty.

"Start what?" She said, rolling over in bed. "Don't you remember? ' _Betty, this is my desk. It's private. Where did you get these?'_ You fought me until the bitter end."

"I'll tell you the truth." He said, once again walking to sit on the bed beside Betty. "But it's going to take a while."

"You lied to me before, then?"

"I didn't lie that night I came home to you. I just didn't relive every waking detail of my life. But I will." Don said.

There was a long silence.

"Okay." Betty said, sitting back up and tightening the robe around her waist.

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay. Start from the beginning."

Don grabbed a cigarette from Betty's case. She grabbed the lighter and lit it for him.

"I was born in a whorehouse east of Mount Carmel, near Patoka, in Illinois…" Don said.

* * *

Kaye was standing at the window of Officer Hendrickson's apartment, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She was wearing nothing but her black bra and underwear. She inhaled and blew out a plume of grey smoke. Their experience left Kaye frustrated in one way but relieved in others. After John had passed out, Kaye went to have a body shower, and returned to put back on her underclothes. John laid in bed and the effects of the amphetamine mixed alcohol were taking their toll. He had gone from semi-lucid babbling to nearing incoherent at some points. This was his first time taking any sort of drug. Kaye was reviewing her options. She watched a few stray cars roam by. She stood and smoked silently for ten minutes before butting the cigarette into a potted plant.

Kaye left the bedroom and walked downstairs to the kitchen. On the counter in the corner was a telephone, and she dialed Joan.

"H-hello?" a groggy voice picked up the line

"It's me. Kaye."

"Couldn't this have waited until morning?"

"They're going to search your apartment."

"Who?" Joan exclaimed. She was awake now.

"The police. John told me."

"John who?"

"Hendrickson, the police officer who sat you down and told you about Greg."

"Oh. Okay. How did you-"

"You have to get rid of the gun. Now. I can't talk. I'll tell you more later." Kaye whispered.

"Oh… yes." Joan said. "Could you come and get it?"

"The gun?"

"Yes. I don't know what to do."

"Fine." She paused. "I'm coming over."

Kaye hung up the receiver before Joan could reply and walked back up the stairs. She put back on her dress, adjusted her makeup in the mirror from her clutch, and snorted a line of Raphetamine. She grabbed John's keys from the hanger by the door and took off in his topless Thunderbird. _Cry, Cry, Cry 'til Mommy-Kaye takes your T-bird away_ , she thought. There was hardly anyone on the roads, and it made a quick journey to Joan's apartment in midtown.

"Whose car is that?" She asked as Kaye walked into the apartment.

"Where is it?"

"Here." Joan passed Kaye a shoebox. Inside was the Colt Hammerless pistol. Kaye gazed at it and then placed the lid back on it.

"Come to me at work. We can talk then." Kaye said, turning and making her way towards the door. "Let me know if they come tomorrow."

"Alright." Joan closed the door behind her.

Kaye threw the box onto the passenger seat and drove back to her apartment. It was 2:30 in the morning when she arrived at Gramercy Place. She took the box inside and ran up the stairs to her apartment. Kaye placed the box inside one of the kitchen cabinets on the top shelf. After removing her coat, she walked into her bedroom, fell into bed, and threw the covers over her face.

* * *

It was 7:00 in the morning. Donald Draper was awoken by a small stream of light passing around the curtains of the window in the bedroom. His ex-wife was naked, laying her head upon his chest, and her body was wrapped around him. Slowly the memories of the night began coming back to him. He had started with the whorehouse, the farm, Archibald, Abigail, Aimee and ended the story when he was 14 at 5:00 in the morning.

Betty said nothing the entire time he spoke. She smoked occasionally and placed her hand on his neck to comfort him. But she didn't speak. She didn't ask questions. Don was thankful for that. After he finished, she kissed him, things progressed, and they made love once again. Betty fell asleep shortly after.

Don moved Betty over, placing her head on her pillow. She moaned slightly, rolled over, and fell asleep. He got dressed quickly, putting back on his suit. In the bathroom, he coiffed his hair with Henry's oil, and applied aftershave to his face. While he was leaving the bedroom he kissed Betty on the forehead. She didn't wake.

The house was still dark. Nancy hadn't arrived yet, and the kids wouldn't be up for another hour. Luckily, Gene slept through the night and disturbed no one. Don made his way past the bedrooms, down the stairs, and out the front door. The morning was fresh. There was dew on the lawn, and the Cadillac was waiting up the street. The sunrise was full and pure orange. Many mornings in the past were like this. It bathed the whole street in gold light. Don took a moment before getting into the car to just close his eyes and breathe in.


End file.
